Pheonix Rising
by clockwork-faerie98
Summary: Lissie Reynolds has a powerful and dangerous gift: she's a pyrokinetic. And she can't control it, which makes her a liability-something that the Justice League can't have running around. Please R&R! Oh, and this takes place during Young Justice, Season 1.
1. Firestarter

**Disclaimer: I don't own Young Justice. At all. Not even a little.**

* * *

"Wake up!" There was a click as Ethan flicked on the lights, and a bright electric glare flooded my room. Moaning, I burrowed deeper into my soft sheets and pulled the covers over my head.

"Five more minutes, Ethan," I mumbled.

"No!" There was a dull thud as a pillow hit the back of my head. "You've been late for school three times this week. I won't let you be late again."

I moaned in response, and I swear that I could tell that Ethan was rolling his eyes.

"You've got five minutes to get your lazy butt down the stairs, or I'm leaving without you. And I don't think you want to ride the bus."

It was true. Personally, I would rather take my chances with the electric chair than the school bus. Rolling lazily out of bed, I shuffled over to my worn white chest of drawers (chipping paint and all), where I pulled out a top and pants without checking to see what they were. They turned out to be a green turtleneck and a worn, pale blue pair of jeans-plain, but comfortable. I had never really been all that interested in what I wore.

Before dashing into the bathroom, I paused to glance in a full-length mirror. I frowned at what I saw—bushy red hair, skin so pale that it burned at the mere suggestion of sun, a splash of freckles over my nose, no curves to speak of. But what I hated the most were my eyes. They were a vibrant green, and Ethan called them pretty (though Ethan also said my hair was "nice", and we all know what a lie that is), but they were the exact shade my dad's had been. And I hated them for that.

Turning from the mirror, I dashed into the tiny bathroom, almost slipping on the baby blue tiles that were still damp from Ethan's shower. I didn't bother with makeup, not because I didn't like it but because I had never learned to put it on, and, okay, I may have overslept a bit. Instead, I shoved my toothbrush into my mouth, and began brushing vigorously.

"Two minutes, Lissie!" Ethan called up the stairs.

"Coming!" I hollered back, although it probably sounded more like "Mrph!" because I was talking through my toothbrush.

I spat into the sink and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. Snatching a hair elastic, scraping my frizzy hair into a ponytail without the aid of a mirror or brush, I dashed out of the bathroom and downstairs. Ethan already sat at the kitchen table, his blonde hair catching the sunlight as he flipped lazily through the newspaper, his hazel eyes scanning the words. He was 28, but with his muscular body and tanned skin, age didn't stop girls at my school who saw him from flirting. He had set out a bowl and cereal at my place. I grabbed the bowl. Inside, the face of Mickey Mouse grinned up at me, reflecting a cheeriness I didn't feel.

"Nice of you to join me," Ethan commented drily.

"Yeah, whatever," I mumbled, dumping some cereal in my bowl. I skipped the milk, instead opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of hot sauce, which I dumped vigorously over my cereal.

Ethan made a face at my breakfast choice. "Must you do that? It's disgusting."

I shrugged, my mouth already full of cereal. "Ish gud," I mumbled through my bite. It was, too. Normally, I didn't like the dry health cereal that Ethan bought-it tasted like cardboard and stuck to the roof of my mouth. But hot sauce made all the difference.

He sighed. "You ready for school?"

This time, it was my turn to make a face. "Why can't I just homeschool? It would be so much…safer."

Ethan sighed. "I've already told you, I don't have the time_ or_ resources to homeschool you. Besides, you're plenty safe at Greenwood."

I sighed. "_I'm _safe, but with me around, the _other_ students aren't. And anyway, Greenwood is a crap school. They practically have to hire security guards to make sure the delinquents don't beat each other up." Okay, so the security guards bit might have been made up, but the crap school part wasn't. It was a school of airheads and delinquents, where most of the kids should have been sent to juvvie a long time ago. And of all the delinquents, I was Delinquent Numero Uno. I practically had reserve seating in the detention room.

Ethan rolled his eyes. "Oh, _come on_. Greenwood High is a fine school. And besides, you've got friends there."

"_Please_. I don't have friends—just people who hate me and people who hate me more. I'm the school pyro, Ethan. That doesn't exactly make you a lot of friends."

Ethan sighed, his blue eyes sad. "Are you still on that? You know, those cafeteria fires really weren't your fault."

"They were _completely_ my fault. And even if they weren't, the other kids don't know that."

Ethan smiled and in a sudden show of kindness, put his tan, rough hand over my small, pale one. "Then just change your rep. Don't set off any fires today. Your day will be great, you'll see."

I didn't bother arguing that reps (Did Ethan _really_ just say "rep"?) weren't just changed like that. Instead I sighed. "I'll try," I mumbled.

Ethan grinned. "Try? There is no try. There is only do and do not do," he said in a freakishly accurate impression of Yoda.

"Fine. I'll do," I consented. I shoved a few more bites of cereal and hot sauce in my mouth, then dumped the bowl in the sink. I was about to grab my bag and head out the door, but I stopped and turned. I bit my lip.

"Ethan?" I said, my voice suddenly sounding small and weak. "Ethan, what if…what if I_ don't_ do?"

He smiled, but his eyes betrayed worry. "Then…we'll just have to pray that the Justice League doesn't find out. But I promise, it'll be okay. We'll work through it."

I smiled, relief coursing through me. Grabbing my backpack off of its hook, I ran outside, ready for the long walk to school. I was already out the door when I heard Ethan call to me.

"Happy birthday, Lissie," he called out through the door. I smiled.

_"Happy birthday_," I whispered, liking the way the words sounded.

Happy birthday to me.

* * *

_School. _Here at Greenwood, "Hell on Earth" was a more accurate description. Student-made posters in garish colors lined the walls, advertising everything from that night's dance (which I would not be attending) to various clubs (that I didn't belong to). I suppose the posters might have been trying to make the place more cheerful, but they didn't do much to help the appearance of things. Let's just say that whoever had designed the school had been entirely too fond of the color brown.

Sighing, I side-stepped a fist-fight between two gang members in the hall. The teachers were pushing back the crush of students straining to get a better view of the fight, but they weren't interfering, probably because they were expecting the boys (men, really) to pull out guns or knives and try to kill each other. It wouldn't have been the first time. I headed to my locker, where I would grab my books and stash my backpack before heading to class. I was just opening the locker when I heard a high-pitched giggle.

"Oh, _Aaron, _you're _sooo…"_ I winced and plugged my ears, blocking out the noise before I could hear the end of the sentence. Speaking of people who hated me…

Vanessa Simon stood, just on the other side of my locker door. Actually, _stood_ wasn't quite accurate. The girl was draped around her boyfriend-of-the-week, Aaron Greene, like a cheap scarf. He was the captain of the soccer team and ruggedly handsome, with dark hair and deep brown eyes. Normally, he was one of the most confident guys in the school, but his cocky smirk had been replaced by a goofy grin. Clearly, he was in ecstasy. I felt a pang of sympathy for his girlfriend, Stella Daniels, when she found out.

Then again, one could hardly blame the guy. Vanessa was easily _the_ most popular girl in the school, and had risen to the top of the social ladder almost as quickly as I had sunk to the bottom. In addition, she was drop-dead gorgeous, with perfect chocolate curls, olive skin that had never seen a zit, baby blue eyes, and perfect curves that I would have sold my soul for. Yes, the girl was gorgeous. On the outside, that is.

Vanessa glanced up from her shameless flirting and noticed me, timidly peeking out from behind my locker door. _Crap._ As soon as she saw me, her perfect lips parted into a cruel grin. She leaned over and whispered something in Aaron's ear, probably something along the lines of: _Wait for me a bit, babe._

Casually, she sauntered over to me, leaning against the locker. "Hello, Elizabeth."

I closed my eyes, desperately trying to ignore the feeling that I was a fly and had just been caught in a spider web. "Hello, Vanessa."

I tried to stay calm, but inside, I was a mess of terror. _Please_, I prayed desperately. _Please don't make me talk to her._

A shrill buzz rang out through the hall—the five-minute warning bell. "Thank you," I whispered aloud.

Then I turned to Vanessa and grinned. "Sorry, Vanessa, I'd love to talk, but I've got first-period English with Mrs. Schmidt, and you know how brutal she is in the morning."

I'd expected Vanessa to leave, but she just smiled that same smile that had the kind of cruel beauty that a panther is reported to have the second before it rips your throat out. "What a coincidence! I have the same class. I'll walk with you."

"Um.." I mumbled, desperately trying to think of an excuse. "Uh…what about Aaron?"

"That's O.K. He doesn't mind. Right, darling?" She turned to Aaron and flashed a supermodel-worthy grin—a real smile this time—that probably stunned him into complacency.

"Ye—I mean no—I mean, anything for you, babes," Aaron finished stupidly.

"Good boy," Vanessa grinned, and I resisted the urge to gag. I wondered if Aaron knew that she was talking to him like a dog, but when I turned back, he was smiling just as dumb as ever. No wonder—Aaron was about as sharp as a beach ball. Fortunately, Greenwood high was an intelligence=optional kind of school, so he got by pretty well.

Vanessa grinned and hooked her arm through mine as we began walking.

"Why are you talking to me, Vanessa?" I asked, never one for tact.

She feigned confusion. "Why, we're friends, aren't we?"

"Not really."

Vanessa sighed. "Fine. I wanted to tell you something. You know that blonde boy you live with?"

"My brother?" I asked. It was a lie, but one that had become so familiar that I didn't hesitate to tell it.

"Yes, him. Though how someone that _hot_ is related to you, I'll never know. Anyway, that company he plays secretary at is one that my daddy just bought."

"What are you playing at?"

Vanessa widened her eyes innocently. "_Moi_? All I wanted to tell you was that my daddy is now your brother's boss. Now, what could that mean for him? Let me think…"

I rolled my eyes. "Don't think too hard, Vanessa, you might hurt yourself."

Her face tightened into a glare, and she didn't look remotely the beauty queen she was. "Why you little...Your brother is hot, I'll give him that. But no amount of hotness will save him—or his job-if you cross me. So watch yourself, _Elizabeth."_

My stomach turned unpleasantly as I caught the threat. Hastily, I pulled out of her grasp and ran into the classroom, bowing my head so she wouldn't see my face. I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of seeing the fear. I knew that she could—and would—follow through on her threats.

I slid into my desk and buried my head in my hands.

"Elizabeth Reynolds," I heard the speaker address me and looked up.

Mrs. Scmidt was glaring at me, her sneer exaggerating her already deep wrinkles. "You're late. Detention." I sighed, disappointed. The fact that Vanessa had been later than me and not punished hadn't slipped by me, but I wasn't surprised by it. Vanessa was frequently given better treatment than the rest of us commoners. Why that was the case was anyone's guess, but I had a hunch that it was because of her rich father who helped pay most of the teacher's annual bonuses.

"Now, class…" Mrs Schmidt began, and I groaned softly, sliding low in my seat, already dreading the lecture on nouns and infinitives that was sure to ensue. Mrs. Schmidt's lessons had the entertainment value of the packet of instructions that came with Ethan's blender.

A flash of movement caught my eye, and I glanced over. One of Vanessa's lackeys, Haylie (I think), was fiddling with a piece of paper. She was writing a note, but she was making it extremely obvious, like flashing a signal. Was she insane? Did she _want_ a detention? I turned away, covering my smirk with my hand. It really wasn't my problem, and besides, seeing one of Vanessa's henchmen punished would make a great birthday present.

Sure enough, Mrs. Scmidt swooped in and snatched the note. "Detention, Haylie," she said smugly. Handing out detentions was one of the few joys in Mrs. Schmidt's empty life. "Now, class, shall we see what enthralled Miss Haylie enough to distract her from the lesson?"

She unfolded the crinkled notebook paper, and I grinned, glancing over at Haylie, but she didn't look mortified like she should have. Instead, she looked almost…smug_._

The sound of Mrs. Schmidt clearing her throat snapped me back to attention. I smiled as she began to read, but my grin was soon replaced by an expression of horror.

"Elizabeth Reynolds is such a…Oh! I can't say _that_ word," she exclaimed, and as the first peal of laughter rang out from the class, I could feel myself blush, a hot rush that spread all over me, turning my entire body cherry red. Slowly, I covered my ears, not wanting to hear the rest, but the laughter from the class, and even Mrs. Schmidt, was enough.

Tears pricked at my eyelashes, but it didn't take long for the hot embarrassment to be replaced by an even hotter hate. How _dare_ she write that note? How _dare_ the teacher read it in class? The heat rushed in waves through my body, accompanied by a tingle in my fingers and toes.

Oh, crap.

By the time I realized what was happening, it was too late to do anything about it. A final heat rushed through my body, and then…

_Fwoom._ The note erupted into flame even as the teacher read it. She screamed frantically and dropped it, stumbling backward over her podium. I almost laughed, but thought better of it, knowing that laughing would be incriminating evidence that I had caused the fire.

The flames shot up in a roaring column, scorching the ceiling. A natural fire would have burned out long ago, but this fire was anything but natural. Students in the front were shrieking and falling over themselves to get out, pushing others toward the inferno in a desperate attempt to get out of harm's way. In fact, everyone was heading in a crush toward the exit. Everyone, that is, except me. I sat, shell-shocked in my seat, stunned at the damage I had caused—no, _was causing_. Finally someone nudged my elbow.

"Come _on_, Elizabeth, you'll be burned to a crisp if you stay here." I followed whoever it was obediently, but I knew that it was physically impossible to get burned. For me, at least.

The hall outside was a crush of shrieking, sobbing students. Smoke and a smell of scorched hair billowed out from the classroom and into the hall. Sirens sounded in the distance—firefighters. I fought my way through the throng and burst through the doors in front of the school where I sunk, defeated, to sit on the steps.

I had done it again.

* * *

**A/N: So? First chappie done! I have a couple more on my computer, so the next one will probably come soon. And, before I get any complaints about it, I apologize if I screwed up that Star Wars quote. I'm stupid, I know.**

**Please Rate and Review!**


	2. Birthday Girl

"Watcha looking at, Bats?" Robin grinned, trying to peer over his mentor's shoulder at the glowing computer monitors. He noticed an image of a dull, dishwater-gray building: Greenwood High, a small high school in a tiny town somewhere out in the Midwest. The type of school where down-on-their luck kids could go to so they could goof of and (once in a great while) learn something. The building, like the students streaming out of it, was thoroughly unremarkable.

"It's…plain," Robin commented. He hated to admit it, but he was…underwhelmed. He winced, even as he thought the word. "What's so special about it?"

Batman turned. "This is Greenwood High. In all ways, it's a typical high school, except…"

"Except _what_?"

"There've been a series of minor fires here. Three so far in the past month, the latest of which took place just this morning."

Robin gave a low whistle. "Too many to be a coincidence, then."

Batman nodded, turning back to the monitors. "Exactly. Something—or _someone_ is setting off these fires, possibly accidentally, but probably on purpose."

"What makes you think it's not just a student prank?"

Batman tapped a few of the buttons on the monitors. "This is the security footage from this morning—first period English."

A grainy, black-and-white image appeared on the screen. There was no sound, but Robin could clearly see the teacher, an old, pear-shaped woman, reading from a slip of paper to the class. Suddenly, the note burst into flame. The teacher, clearly screaming, dropped it and stumbled backwards. Flames soared toward the ceiling in a column, and the security footage cut out.

"Woah—definitely not a prank."

Batman nodded. "Whoever is behind this is using highly advanced technology. Or metahuman powers."

"You want the team to go in and investigate?"

Batman shook his head. "No, that many new students would be conspicuous, and I want to see what our fire-starter's next move is before forming a plan of attack. But be ready to move in at any moment."

* * *

The firemen moved fairly quickly, and the fire was put out within a couple of minutes. Of course, after that, there were several hours reserved for the formalities—checking every student in, treating the ones with major burns, and so on. A surprisingly small amount of students were injured—even Mrs. Schmidt got off with only a few minor burns. In fact, the last time I saw her, she was screaming at the principal, declaring that her resignation would be on his desk and, no, she didn't care how hard it would be to find a replacement English teacher at such short notice.

By the time the paperwork was cleared, it was almost two, and the teachers decided to let us off early. I knew that Ethan probably wouldn't be home for another couple of hours, but I couldn't bring myself to return home, just in case he _was_ there and I had to tell him about what happened. I didn't want to see the look of disappointment that would be in his eyes when he found out.

Instead, I spent a couple hours wandering around town. Somewhere in there I forced myself to pick up a couple groceries, but mostly, I just wandered aimlessly, not having anything to do but not wanting to go home. I was shaken by what I had done—none of the fires I had ever set off had been that big (or dramatic). Sure, I had set fire to the mystery meat in the cafeteria, and once to a pile of dirty gym clothes, but those were easily controlled with a fire extinguisher and a bucket of water, nothing like this.

The sun began to go down around five, and I was forced to go home or risk being caught outside in my neighborhood after dark, something that was never a good idea.

I arrived at our run-down little apartment somewhere around six, two full bags of groceries clutched in my hands. I was expecting to cook dinner, just like every other night. (Actually, I was a lousy cook, but Ethan was even worse, and he didn't have the time.) But instead of the dark house I was expecting, the windows were lit up, giving our tiny apartment the appearance of glowing in the dark. Ethan was home.

I fumbled with my keys for a couple of seconds, but I was eager to get in out of the chill of the autumn air. Walking inside, I was hit by the heavy aroma of dinner. It smelled greasy, fattening, and absolutely delicious, the trademark scent of anything worth eating.

"Happy birthday, Lissie!" Ethan called from the kitchen. Kicking my shoes off at the door, I carefully walked in, curious.

"What are you doing in the kitchen, Ethan?"

Ethan turned from the stove and grinned, and I noticed for the first time that his chiseled face was beginning to get wrinkles. He was wearing my pink apron and Winnie-the-Pooh pot holders, and, combined with his muscular body, the sight was so hilarious that I almost laughed out loud.

"Cooking, _duh_."

I laughed this time. "Since when do you cook?"

Ethan gave me a pout. "Since now. It's your birthday, I'm not letting you cook. Go sit down, dinner's already on the table."

Obediently, I headed into the dining room. Two pizza boxes and a liter-bottle of Coke sat on the table, one box at each seat. Curious, I opened mine, and grinned to discover that it was my favorite: pepperoni and jalapeño.

Ethan came out, holding a chocolate-iced cake, glowing with candles. "Happy birthday, birthday girl." He sat the cake down, and I saw that the words _Happy 14__th__, Lissie_ were clumsily hand-inscribed in pink icing.

"Well, make a wish."

I smiled and closed my eyes. _I wish…_Usually I had a hard time knowing what to wish for. But not now. _I wish that I could control my powers. Not a lot, just enough to not set fire to things all the time,_ I thought, blowing out my candles.

Ethan grinned and I smiled back. "All in one go, that's lucky," he commented, taking a bite of his pizza.

I cracked open the Coke and took a swig, not bothering with a glass.

"So, how was school today?"

I winced. "I—set fire to a note in first-period English. The firefighters came and they let out school early."

Ethan's eyes filled with an immense sadness, and I felt a pang of guilt. "Oh, Lissie."

"I'm _sorry_! You know I can't control it!" I half-yelled, desperately trying to defend my actions.

"I know," he sighed. "But I hoped you could keep from setting fires, just for one day."

"You know," I said, taking a bite of my pizza and sighing in pleasure at the rush of heat I felt from the peppers, "Why don't I just go to the Justice League? I'm sure they could help me control my powers."

"No!" Ethan yelled, slamming his fist into the table. I winced at the sudden outburst of anger, and noticing, he sighed. "I mean, no. You're not my little sister by blood, but you are in every other way. If you go to them, they might…take you from me. And I won't let that happen."

He smiled sadly, and I met his gaze, although it felt awkward enough that I wanted to look away.

"Oh!" He exclaimed, grinning. "I just remembered—I got you something."

He reached into the pocket of the pink apron, extracting a box and handing it to me. It was a small, package, beautifully wrapped in gold paper and red ribbon—definitely not Ethan's handiwork. Eager, I tore into the paper and tossed of the lid.

"Oh, Ethan," I gasped. "It's beautiful. How did you ever afford it?"

Inside the box, a beautiful bracelet sat on a wine-colored, velvet cushion. It was a thin gold chain, and beads every color of the rainbow were strung on it, perfectly spaced. They glittered in the light like little stars.

It clearly cost him way more than we could ever afford.

Ethan just grinned. "You like it?"

"I love it. But seriously, how did you pay for it?"

He shrugged. "Don't worry, we'll manage. It's your birthday, I wanted to get you something special."

I smiled, and impulsively, got up and hugged him. He still had his pizza in his hand, and it smeared on my shirt, but I didn't care. "In that case, I _really_ love it."

He chuckled into my hair. "Happy birthday, kid."

* * *

Later that night, we both sat on the couch, Ethan reading the paper and me working on some homework. The radio blared out music in the corner, something fast and loud that I didn't know the name of.

Suddenly Ethan looked up. "Hey, wasn't there a dance or something tonight?"

I looked away, uncomfortable. "Yeah, but they might have canceled it 'cause of the fire. Besides, I…wasn't invited."

A look of mock surprise crossed Ethan's face, and I laughed in spite of myself. "_My_ little sister? Not asked? I don't believe that for a second. Why, I bet you had so many invitations that you couldn't decide and just didn't go." He smirked, and I gave another giggle.

"Come on," he said impulsively, getting up. He walked over to the radio, and pushed a few buttons, changing the song from the upbeat pop tune to a something slow and sweet. Elvis' voice began its slow croon from the radio.

_"But I can't help falling in love with you…"_

"You deserve at least one dance," he smiled, offering his hand and grinning wryly. I took it, and he yanked my from the couch, putting his arms around my waist. We swayed in time to the slow beat of the music. He was a good head taller than me, making dancing a bit awkward, and I threw back my head and laughed at the hilarious sight we must have been.

"What, mademoiselle, am I not a good dancer?" Ethan asked, pouting.

"No, you're a fine dancer. In fact, with you, I almost don't need a man in my life."

Ethan gasped indignantly, and I giggled again, burying my head into his chest and wrapping my arms tight around his muscular back.

"You're the best brother I ever had, Ethan," I whispered.

Ethan smirked. "Ditto," he grinned, and I slapped him lightly on his arm.

He laughed. "Seriously, kid, I love you too. We may not really be related, but you still make a great little sister."

I smiled as we swayed to the music, finally content.

Of course, nothing good ever lasts, least of all this.

* * *

**A/N: Wow, that was mushy. Just to be really clear, Ethan and Lissie are NOT in love! I just wanted to make it super obvious that Ethan is a really good brother, and that he cares for Lissie.**

**Oh, by the way, I checked out my story stats. I got lots of views, but only one review! (By J the Drafter-thanks, by the way, I really appreciated your advice) I don't know if that's bad or not, but I don't think it's good. So pretty please, review! I'll love you forever!**

**Oh, and if anyone would be so kind, in story stats, what's the difference between hits and visitors? I'm kinda dumb with things like this, so I would really appreciate some help. Thanks in advance!**


	3. One Big Mistake

Late-afternoon sunlight streamed through the window and into sixth-period study hall. I had set my bracelet out on my desk, and the beads caught the light, reflecting it in a thousand tiny rainbows onto the essay that I was madly trying to finish for Biology next period.

Suddenly, the rainbows cut out. I glanced up to see where they had gone, only to notice that the bracelet was no longer on my desk; it was dangling a few inches in front of my nose.

"What a pretty little thing," Vanessa sneered, waving it back and forth in front of me. I made a frantic grab at it, but she snatched it away just in time.

"Give it back," I hissed.

Vanessa laughed. "Or what? You'll make me? You and what army?"

I stood up, hands on my desk and feet apart, trying to make myself as threating as possible, although I probably looked more ridiculous than threatening. "Exactly."

Vanessa practically skipped up to the front of the room, giggling maniacally. Students stood up, curious. The teacher, (of course) kept reading her massive novel, completely oblivious.

"I might give it back…but first, I want to hear you beg."

"_Excuse_ me?" I gasped in disbelief. I'd known that Vanessa was a stuck-up control freak, but I really hadn't seen that coming.

"You heard me. Get down on your knees and beg." She considered the bracelet, holding it at arm's length. "Or I might just keep your little trinket. It would look _sooo_ nice with this outfit."

I laughed in shock and outrage. Hot waves of anger already pulsed through me, though I probably could have stopped myself if I'd wanted. But when Vanessa took my bracelet, all rational thought had taken a nose dive, and right then, I didn't care _what_ I did, as long as I got the bracelet back.

"Just give it back, Vanessa," a student called. I could already see the class pressing in on us, feel their nervous anticipation. They wanted a fight.

"No. I want to see her beg."

"Vanessa," I sighed.

She turned and grinned, expecting my plea for the bracelet. "Yes?"

I smiled. "Kiss my ass." The crowd gave a murmur, shocked.

She gave a choke of disbelief. "I'm sorry, _what_ did you say?"

White stars were already starting to obscure my vision, and from the heat I felt, I knew it wouldn't be long before the flames manifested themselves. Still, I managed to choke out a response. "I said, you can kiss. My. _ASS_!"

There was a _whoosh_ as my vision was completely obscured by a flash of white, and I had to stop myself from tumbling backwards. The stars slowly began to clear, but I didn't need to see to know what had happened. Vanessa's desperate screams told me enough.

"My hair! My HAIR! Somebody _do_ something!"

I blinked, and the stars cleared enough for me to see the inferno that had once been the ends of her perfect chocolate locks. As was characteristic of my flames, they didn't eat up her hair as fast as they should have, instead taking the time to scorch the pale pink designer blouse that had probably cost more than my apartment. In other words, they put on a show for the viewers, all of whom were looking on in horror and fascination.

Shaking myself out of my stunned state, I managed to push through the crowd and yank the fire extinguisher off of the wall. I frantically twisted the dial. The force of the explosion of foam knocked me back, but I regained my footing, letting cool white foam engulf Vanessa's head.

The flames sputtered out, choked by the foam. Releasing my death grip on the extinguisher I let it clatter to the ground. I stood silently, breathing hard, as Vanessa whirled on her heel, rage in her eyes.

Staring each other down, both panting, we stood for a couple seconds. Then Vanessa's rage took over, and she hurled the bracelet at my chest. I caught it, but stumbled back stupidly, landing on my butt. No one laughed.

"I don't know _what _the hell you did," she hissed, "I want you gone. Get out of my sight, _freak_!"

I nodded, and clambered to my feet, only too happy to comply with Vanessa's order. Protectively, I put a hand over my eyes, hoping that no one could see my tears. Blindly, I stumbled out of the classroom and into the hall.

I don't know how I found my way to my locker, but somehow I did. I leaned my forehead on the cool sheet metal for a second, letting the coldness comfort me. Then I slid, defeated, to the floor and curled up at the base of my locker. Sobs rattled my body, and tears streamed down my face, wetting my hair so that it stuck to my cheeks.

Frantically, I fumbled through my bag, desperately searching for my phone. Finally, my hand wrapped around the smooth rectangle, and I pulled it out. I flipped open the cover so quickly that I almost ripped the thing off, but I didn't care. My fingers clumsily dialed the number, my hands so shaky that I almost couldn't dial. I pressed the phone to my wet face, and gave a hysterical little laugh as I heard Ethan's newest ringtone, "Single Ladies", play over the speaker.

"Yes?" his voice answered, sounding more than a bit annoyed.

"Ethan," I sobbed. "Ethan, it's me."

"Oh, God, Lissie," he gasped. "Oh, God…what's wrong?"

I didn't know how to tell him, so I just gave a little squeak of despair. "Ethan, please…I need you."

"Don't worry. Just sit tight, OK? I'll be there in ten minutes."

I nodded, although he couldn't see me, and flipped the phone shut. I pressed it to my cheek, desperately clinging to some shred of sanity.

"Oh, God," I whispered to the empty hall. "What have I done?"

* * *

I guess I must have fallen asleep there, curled up against my locker, because the next thing I knew, I was cradled in Ethan's strong arms, being carried out of school.

"Ethan…?" I whispered.

"We're going home, kid. Don't worry, everything's gonna be alright."

I nodded, and pressed my face into his chest, breathing in the smell of his cologne, and something else, too, something faintly metallic that I couldn't quite put a name on. Sighing, I let myself slowly drift back asleep.

* * *

_ I was back home, but my body wasn't my own, or at least, it hadn't been for a long time. My lean, scrawny fourteen-year old body had been replaced by a short, pudgy one: I was five again. And, now that I looked, the room wasn't one in my house. The room was elegantly furnished, with a huge master bed, long slik curtains, and a flowery wallpaper, everything in varying shades of green. The faict scent of lavender filled the room, and the plush green carpet beneath my feet was far more expensive than anything Ethan or I could ever have afforded. It had been a long, long time since I felt that same softness underfoot._

_ A moan came from the master bed, and for the first time, I noticed how dark the room was: no lights were on, only thin beams seeped from under the drawn curtains. Cautiously, I crept over to the bed, afraid of what I might see there._

_ A figure lay on the bed, one arm draped over the side. Though the bed was tall, it wasn't so tall that my five-year-old self couldn't climb onto it. Slowly, I pulled myself up, and watched the woman on it come into view. Her skin was pale, but more of a milky white than my pasty color, and what freckles she had managed to look charming. Her hair was the same orange shade as mine, but curled in soft ringlets around her heart-shaped face, though it was a bit mussed from sleep._

_ Her delicate brow was creased in pain and sweat stuck her hair to her face, but even through the haze of disease, I could see how beautiful she was. I put a pudgy hand on her burning cheek, and her hazel eyes flickered open in recognition, a smile playing on her pale lips._

_ "Momma?" I whispered._

_ "Hey…baby," she whispered, covering my hand with hers._

_ "Momma, what's wrong?" I whimpered, on the verge of tears._

_ "Nothing, baby," she whispered, pain flashing across her face. "I'm just…getting ready…for a little trip."_

_ "Where are you going, Momma? Can I come with you?" Even at five, I had learned that trips were a good thing._

_ Sadness filled her eyes. "No, baby. I'm sorry, but where I'm going, you can't follow."_

_ "Oh," I said, disappointed, and she smiled kindly, brushing the hair out of my eyes._

_ "Lissie, baby, promise me something."_

_ "What, Momma?"_

_ "Promise me…promise me that you'll be a good girl while I'm gone. Be strong, baby. Life won't be easy, but I promise you, it's worth living."_

_ She cupped my face in both hands, bringing it forward, pressing her lips against my forehead._

_ "I love you, baby, more than all the stars in the sky. I'll always love you, even when I'm gone."_

_ "I love you too, Momma."_

_ She smiled serenely, closing her eyes, finally at peace. Suddenly, her face contorted with pain._

_ "Henry!" she shrieked, calling my father's name. "HENRY!"_

_ The door burst open, slamming against the wall, and my father, a dark, well-built man, came sprinting in. His vibrant green eyes were full of concern, and his clothes and rough hands were smudged with dirt: he'd been working in the garden. Gently, he lifted me off of the bed, then took my mother's hand, cradling it in his work-roughened one._

_ "Sarah?" he whispered, tears filling his eyes. I was shocked: I had never seen my daddy cry._

_ She smiled, her eyes closed. "Henry," she breathed._

_ "I'm here, darling, I'm here," he murmured, brushing her red locks out of her face._

_ "Henry…I love you."_

_ "I know, baby. I love you too."_

_ "Henry," she whispered, "Take good care of my baby. Take care of Lissie."_

_ "Sarah…"_

_ "Promise me, Henry," she said, insistent, her eyes flying open. "I need you to promise me."_

_ "I promise."_

_ "Good," she said, and smiled peacefully once again, closing her eyes, turning her face away. "I…love…you."_

_ And then her head fell back. "No," Daddy whispered, tears running down his tanned cheeks. "No, please…" he put his head on her chest, crying. _

_ "Daddy…" I whispered, touching his shoulder blades. A pang of sadness ripped through my stomach-I knew something was wrong. "Daddy, what's wrong with Momma?"_

_ He looked up, as if noticing me for the first time, and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "She's…asleep, Lissie."_

_ "Can we talk to her when she wakes up?"_

_ He shook his head. "No, Lissie. This kind of sleep you don't wake up from."_

_ The scene changed, bedroom morphing into our little kitchen. Light played through the open windows, illuminating cheerful yellow tile and a small wooden table. It was now early morning, and though it was only a few days after my mother's death, I understood how many things had changed. _

_ A group of my father's friends were slumped around the kitchen table, sleeping off a late-night game of poker. Heavy scents hung in the air, scents that my five-year-old mind couldn't identify as alcohol but didn't like just the same. Broken bottles and pizza boxes littered the ground. I snatched up a hundred-dollar bill that someone had bet last night, stuffing it in my pocket._

_ At the table, someone stirred. "Daddy?" I whispered from the door._

_ He snapped awake, his dark hair stuck to his cheek._

_ "Whu—" his eyes caught my small frame in the door. "_You_," he gasped, lunging at me. I could practically see the alcohol emanating in waves off him. He grabbed me by the collar, hauling me up to his face, and tossed me like a rag doll against the floor. Pain sparked through my head, and I cried out in terror. The noise woke one of Daddy's friends._

_ "Daddy…please…"_

_ "What are you doing, Henry?" the man asked, shaking off the haze of one too many drinks._

_ Daddy pulled something glinting silver out of his pocket—a knife._

_ "This _thing_ killed my wife. Now it's her turn to die."_

_ He picked me up by my hair. "Henry, stop!" The man stumbled forward, but Daddy pushed him back into the table, where he cracked his head on a table leg and fell, unconscious._

_ Pain burned my scalp, and tears streamed from my eyes. Desperate, I tried one final plea. "Daddy…Momma said…said you were supposed to…take care of me."_

_ He smiled cruelly, pushing the knife into my throat so that ruby droplets bubbled up onto the blade. "I am taking care of you. You won't be a problem of mine, anymore."_

* * *

**_A/N_: Once again, please review...even if you hate it, at least tell me WHY so I can make it better. Even a flame would be nice.**

**Okay, not really, but you get my point.**

**Anywho, that ends the chapters I have pre-saved in Word, so it will be a while before I'll get the next chappie up. Sorry 'bout that, but I hope you enjoyed these three chappies!**


	4. Cue the Young Justice League

Gasping, clutching my throat, I shot up. Cold sweat had drenched my shirt, sticking it to my back. My hand felt my throat instinctively for a cut that wasn't there.

_Just a dream…it was just a dream._

I forced myself to breathe deeply and calm my racing heart. Of course, the dream had cut off before the end: I'd missed the sudden flash of recognition in Daddy's eyes when he realized what he was doing, the way he set me down, tenderly hugged me, and begged apologies. How he'd canceled work to take me to the zoo, the movies—whatever I wanted. The tears in his eyes when he realized what he'd almost done.

And then, the similar mental breakdowns he'd had after. Momma's death had _done_ something to him. One second he could be cheerful and smiling, the next he'd be threatening me with a gun clutched in his sweaty fist.

I pushed the memories aside and slowly untangled a soft brown blanket from my legs. I was in a tiny living room, laying on the repulsively ugly and yet ridiculously comfortable couch that Ethan and I had picked up at a garage sale. There was a single, plain lamp on next to the couch, but other than that, the room was dark—it must have been seven or eight. Ethan had set a cup of water for me on the edge of the coffee table, but in my blind panic, I'd kicked it over. Water pooled on the rough wooden table, soaked the threadbare carpet, and discolored the couch's flower pattern. Several stacks of books sat in the range of the water, and were now dripping.

I sighed, picking up one that had been soaked to the point where it was unusable. The ink on the front had been blurred into an unrecognizable pattern of blues and reds, but it was large and looked like it had been important.

_Sorry, Ethan._

I used the blanket that had been tangled around my legs to mop up the spill and rescued the books that could be saved. I tried to keep my mind busy, not wanting to think about what had happened at school, but the memories came anyway, accompanied by a flash of guilt.

Oh, sure, I had hated Vanessa. And, _okay_, I had wished I could light her on fire more than once. But now that I'd actually _done_ it, even if it was an accident, I was horrified. I felt insanely guilty, probably way more than I should have over someone I hated. I guess the fact that, somewhere in the darkest corners of my mind, I'd _wanted_ it to happen just made me feel worse. I could feel a hard knot of shame in my stomach, and it was growing by the minute.

More than being guilty, though, I was _scared._ I'd seen just how powerful I was, and just how dangerous my powers were if I couldn't control them. I could snuff out life in an instant—I'd come _thisclose_ to doing it with Vanessa. I was powerful.

And it terrified me.

My stomach grumbled, shaking me out of my thoughts and back into reality. I realized how hungry I was; Ethan and I would usually have had dinner by now. Kneeling on the now-soggy carpet wasn't helping things, so I decided to head out for a bite to eat. It would be quicker than cooking, and hopefully take my mind off things. As an added bonus, if Ethan came home, I wouldn't be here. Not that he would yell at me, of course—he would do worse. He'd give me that wounded-puppy-dog look that always cranked my level of guilt up a few notches until I was practically _begging_ him to let me go draft an apology letter.

I ripped the front page out of one of the less-soaked-but-still-unusable books and dug around under the flowery pink couch cushions until I found a pen that would write reasonably well.

I scribbled a note on the damp paper, then slipped it onto the kitchen table. My messy scrawl was hard to read, and the wet page had blurred the ink, but I was hoping it was legible enough.

_Ethan- Gone out for a burger, I'll pick you up something. Back in _

_half an hour.—Lissie._

I grabbed a twenty dollar bill from the worn envelope that Ethan always kept taped to the fridge "for emergencies". Then I grabbed my gray wool peacoat from its hook by the door and slipped my feet into fraying black Converse. I made sure I had my phone in my pocket—it probably wouldn't help in the case of a mugging or attack, unless I wanted to toss it at the attacker's forehead. Still, I felt reassured to have it there.

Then I unlocked the front door with a click and stepped out into the cold night.

* * *

Six young superheroes stood in the main hall of Mount Justice. The air was filled with a feeling of nervous anticipation, but that was to be expected when Batman was doling out missions, as he was doing now.

The Batman silently tapped away at the computer monitors, calling up images for the teens' benefit. The monitors cast a dim blue glow, even in the well-lit room and an image of a small Midwestern town materialized on the screen.

"This is Greenwood," Batman said in his usual monotone. "It's a small town out is South Dakota. There've been a series of fires at the local high school, fires that were too unusual to be a simple student prank. After some detective work, Robin and I"—Robin grinned proudly—"have deduced the culprit."

The Batman tapped a couple more buttons, and a photograph of a girl appeared on the screen. It was a school photo, and the girl was looking head-on at the camera, no hint of emotion on her face. Her bushy red hair hung messily around her shoulders; her skin was ghostly pale except for a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her emerald-green eyes were the only bit of her that could be described as "pretty". Still, the girl held her head high, almost like a queen: if she was not proud, than she was at least unafraid, a fighter.

"This is Elizabeth Reynolds," Batman said. "She's extremely dangerous—she recently set fire to the hair of a fellow student." Artemis, standing in the back, gave a snort of laughter, and the Batman sent her a glare, even as he hit more buttons to bring up security footage.

The footage was exactly what Batman had described. Two girls, one Elizabeth and the other another student, were standing, staring each other down. The two girls were obviously polar opposites; even from the security footage that was evident. This was mostly because the other girl wore a designer blouse and miniskirt while Elizabeth was in simple gray sweats and a white T-shirt. And, of course, the other girl was drop-dead gorgeous. Although Elizabeth wasn't beautiful, she wasn't ugly, either. Still, next to the other girl, she looked as plain as a blank piece of paper.

Batman pointed to the girl in the miniskirt. "This is Vanessa Simons."

Wally gave a whistle. "She's _super_ hot," he called.

Artemis elbowed him in the ribs. "Shut up."

"Ow!" he cried, but obediently turned his head to the screen, where Elizabeth was yelling something. Though the footage didn't have the sound to hear what was happening, it was pretty obvious that it had been something less-than-nice.

Vanessa looked shocked, as though she wasn't used to being spoken to like that. Her eyes grew wider as Elizabeth stumbled back, a flash emanating from her body.

"So she's a metahuman," Wally said.

Artemis rolled her eyes. "Thank you, Captain Obvious. Now shut up, I'm trying to watch."

The other girl's hair had already burst into flame. Elizabeth shook her head, as if to clear her eyes, and upon seeing what was happening, her expression changed to one of shock and horror that was mirrored on the faces of the rest of her classmates. Still, she managed to shake herself out of her shocked state, grab the fire extinguisher from the wall, and spray white foam all over Vanessa, effectively ruining that designer blouse. The screen went black.

As the footage cut out, Aqualad raised his hand. "Batman?"

"Yes?" Batman asked, turning.

"If Elizabeth is setting fires on purpose, why did she save that other girl? It would have been easier to let her burn."

Batman sighed. "We think…it might _not_ be on purpose. She might not be able to control it. Which makes her just as dangerous as any supervillain."

Aqualad nodded and Batman continued. "We need you to apprehend her and bring her to us. Miss Martian, because of your…weaknesses to fire, it may be wise to stay behind, but I'll leave that decision to you."

Miss Martian nodded respectfully. "If it's all the same to you, I think I'll go. I can stay in the Bio-ship, but it might be good to have a telepathic link."

Batman nodded, and the team turned to leave.

"Robin," Batman called. The Boy Wonder turned.

"Yeah?"

"Remember, this girl is extremely dangerous, controlled or not. Don't underestimate her."

Robin smiled and turned to go, running after his teammates. "Don't worry, I'll stay whelmed!" he called over his shoulder.

Batman sighed, watching him leave. A tiny fear had started in his heart. He knew he had no reason to be afraid; the team was perfectly competent. And he'd felt the same feeling before, but things had always turned out alright. Still…

The Dark Knight was scared for them.

* * *

The burger joint I chose was named Carlos' Burgers and Fries. Of course, Carlos had given the place years ago to his son, Orville. Wisely, Orville had chosen to keep the original name. (Orville's Burgers probably wouldn't sell too much.)

It was less of a restaurant and more of a shack, the kind of place that mothers won't let their kids eat at for fear of them catching exotic diseases. Only locals ever ate at the place—the few tourists that passed through Greenwood tended to avoid the diner like the plague. In fact, there were probably a couple kinds of plague you could catch from eating there.

A big neon sign over the restaurant announced _Carlos's Burgers and Fries_ in red cursive writing, but most of the letters had burned out, so it looked more like this:

C r u d

Under the sign, a tiny burger shack sat in a sea of potholed asphalt. The shack have once been some shade of white, but decades of sun and dirt had turned it into a muddy grayish-yellowish-brown color. Paint peeled in slabs off the exterior, and if it weren't for a few steadfast and well-placed nails, the place would've collapsed ages ago. The whole place should have been shut down, but the city health inspector loved the burgers and turned a blind eye to the dilapidated restaurant.

In the parking lot, streetlights cast orange glows over several rough picnic tables, all covered in bird crap. Only one was occupied, the farthest one from the restaurant, where a group of teens with stringy hair and dark clothing were smoking and passing around a bottle of something suspicious. Their hoots of laughter echoed around the empty lot and reverberated off of the neighboring buildings.

I clutched my coat tighter, trying to generate some heat in the chill night air. I'd had the grey peacoat for three years, and it was almost threadbare and too small, but I loved the thing and couldn't bear to get rid of it. In addition, Ethan and I probably couldn't afford to replace it, even with his full-time job and my work at the local café.

The teens made me nervous, and I hurried up to the one lit window in the shack. An overweight man wearing a sweat-stained T-shirt and a grease-stained apron sat in the window, chewing on the end of an unlit cigarette. With light brown hair and brown (albeit bloodshot) eyes, he was vaguely Spanish in descent (although the last full Hispanic in his bloodline had been his great-grandfather back in 1902). His name was Orville.

Although Orville was not a pretty sight to look at, he was easily one of the friendliest guys in town, evidenced by the fact that his chapped lips split into a smile when he saw me.

"Hey, Lissie! What's a little girl like you doing out this late?"

I smiled in response. "Picking up dinner for me and Ethan."

He laughed heartily. "Too lazy to cook then, eh? You want your usual?"

I giggled, putting the twenty-dollar bill that I had nicked from the fridge on the counter. "Yes, please. Ethan's to go."

He nodded, putting the bill in an ancient cash register hand handing me a mess of coins and bills in return. "It'll be five minutes."

I grinned, leaning on the stained counter. "How's the night been?"

He shrugged. "Eh, not bad. Except for those hoodlums out there," he said, pointing to the teenagers I had noticed earlier. I smirked at his choice of language, but he didn't notice. "You be careful around them, ok? I don't want to see you hurt."

I smiled. "Don't worry, I will."

A slim, pale cook in the kitchen brought out the meal: for Ethan, a brown, grease-stained paper sack, and for me, a chipped plastic basket, lined with tissue and heaping with greasy fries and a jalapeño burger, all dripping with hot sauce.

"Thanks, Orville," I said, taking the food to go sit down.

He smiled. "Any time, girl. Come again."

I chose a picnic table without _too_ much bird crap on it and ate in silence for a while, devouring the burger and loving the rush of heat I felt from the sauce and peppers. It was delicious, even if it _had_ been cooked in a place that was probably already scheduled for demolition. I licked the last of the sauce off of my fingers and smiled, satisfied.

Suddenly, I sat upright. I'd been eating in silence, which meant that the teenagers had stopped their hollering. Of course, that _might_ mean that they had left, but…

I turned. Three of the guys were walking over here, while their buddies sat silently at the table, trying not to laugh.

Just my luck.

I gulped, ducking down in my seat and trying to make myself as small as possible, though I knew it wouldn't help.

The first guy reached me, putting a hand on my shoulder. I gulped again, my heart racing.

"Hey, girly," he said, yanking me out of my seat and pulling me so that I faced him head-on.

Up close, he was even uglier than I'd first thought, if that was possible. His skin was as pale as the moon and at least as pockmarked, though his scars were from acne and knife fights, not meteors. Greasy hair hung to his shoulders, and his eyes were rimmed with red. He was dressed head-to-toe in dark leather.

He leaned in close, his breath reeking like a moldy garlic pizza wrapped in gym shorts. I almost choked from the stench.

"Why don't you have a mint, _then_ come talk to me?" I suggested, gasping from the stench.

He growled, pushing me back into one of his buddies, an overweight kid whose bald head swirled with dark ink tattoos. Judging by the tattoos, I'd say that he was a big fan of skulls and cuss words.

The boy I'd crashed into was stronger than he looked, and he caught me and held me fast, pinning my arms behind my back. He reeked of dry sweat and cigarette smoke, though he didn't smell quite as bad as the first guy.

Rotten-Breath-Guy leaned in. "We're going to have some fun, you and I." He sneered, his mouth parting into an insane-looking grin, wide as the Joker's.

I snarled. "I don't think so." If my hands had been free, I'd have wiped that grin of his stupid face. Instead I kicked up, aiming for his crotch. My worn shoe hit its mark, and he doubled over. His face contorted with pain, and, somehow, he got even uglier.

He hissed in pain. "You little bitch," he breathed.

One of his buddies (the one that wasn't holding me) reached over and slapped my cheek. Pain flared through my face, and the guy laughed, revealing more than a few missing teeth.

The same rage that I'd felt so many times before flared through me, bringing with it an incredible heat. Of course, I didn't feel a thing, but the guy holding me sure did.

He screamed (a high-pitched, girly scream), releasing his hold on me and staring, incredulous, at his now red and blistery hands. "You burned me. How did you burn me?"

I grinned, letting the heat take control, do what it wanted. I didn't care about controlling it anymore. "I'm special," I whispered. As if on cue, my hair burst into flame, a dazzling inferno in the night. Unlike Vanessa's hair, it didn't burn up, instead putting on a fire show that was at once beautiful and terrifying. I was sure that if I could have seen my face, the fire would have lit it up so that I looked like a little she-demon.

The guys were on the ground now, cowering before my flames. "Wh-what are you?" one managed to splutter.

I grinned. "Your worst nightmare," I whispered menacingly. I'd always wanted to say that. I tried not to grin, although with the flames flickering around my face, a grin probably would have made me look even more terrifying. I thought of adding a "Bow before my awesome and terrible power" but I thought that that might have been overkill.

Still, the guys were terrified. "Please…please don't hurt us," Rotten-Breath-Guy begged, tears making tracks in the dirt on his face. "We was just kiddin' around, is all."

I grinned. "Oh…alright. Since I'm nice, I'll give you three seconds to run before I roast you alive. One…two…"

I couldn't follow through with my threats, but they didn't know that. Eyes wide as saucers, they managed to scrape themselves off the asphalt and sprint away as fast as their fat legs could carry them.

"Yeah! Yeah, you'd _better_ run!" I yelled after them, shaking my fist. It was hard to sound threatening through my laughter, but I did my best. Then I tossed back my head and laughed uncontrollably. Even though I hadn't been controlling my powers, at least they'd worked for _me _for once, instead of the other way around. The thought made me giddy with joy, and it showed in my giggles.

"Now _that_ was uncalled for," said a voice behind me. I wiped the smile off my face and turned, ready to intimidate more druggies, but I was met with the sharp point of an arrow in my face.

I followed the arrow to its owner and took a step back, trying to conceal my shock. The girl at the other end was thin, athletic, and muscular, wearing a dark green outfit (complete with a mask), her blonde hair up in a long ponytail. Her top exposed a well-toned stomach, which was strange, because she was a superhero, and in a battle against villains, an exposed stomach was an easy target. Behind her stood four others in similar costume, kids that had been featured in virtually every newspaper, magazine, or news broadcast published in the last six months. They all struck heroic poses, and they all looked at me as though I was gum they'd found on the bottom of their shoe.

The Young Justice League.

Oh, crap.

* * *

**Here we go! Chappie 4! I got a comment that my chapters should be longer, so I hope this is good.**

**Oh, and have any of you guys heard Maroon 5's newest song? It's soooo good! I used to love Maroon 5 back when they were doing songs like "She Will Be Loved", but they got slightly more...well, you know. But this song is a lot different, and I like it.**

**Once again, please rate and review! Hope you liked it!**


	5. Close Encounters of the Hero Kind

**Just realized that I kept on forgetting this, soo...**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Young Justice! At all! Except for my OCs! Please don't sue me! I'll add these disclaimers right away!**

* * *

My heart thumped in my chest, loud enough to be audible in the silence. I hoped that Artemis couldn't tell how terrified I was of her.

_Why are they here? _I thought. _And why the hell is there an arrow in my face?_

Briefly, I considered talking my way out of this situation, but I noticed the smoldering ends of my hair and realized that they'd just seen it burst into flame. It would take a _lot_ of sweet-talking to get out of this.

So instead, I wiped the shock off of my face, replacing it with a cocky grin. "I'd ask if you come here often," I said, giving Artemis's costume an obviously critical glance, "but judging from the getup, clearly you don't."

She growled, narrowing her eyes and tightening her grip on the bow. Not good. "Are you Elizabeth Reynolds?"

Somehow, the fact that she knew my name didn't surprise me. The Justice League had access to all sorts of information. So I just shrugged. "Yeah, some people call me that. But if you want to chat, I suggest you get the lethal weapon out of my face." She growled again, but complied, though it looked as though she would have run me through if she could.

A dark-skinned, handsome boy with black tattoos swirling up his arms stepped forward. "We've been getting reports of fires started around here. Is that you?"

I gave him my best surely-you-can't-be-as-stupid-as-I-think-you-are-didn't-you-just-see-my-hair-spontaneously-combust look, and he glanced away, slightly embarrassed.

"Guess that's a yes," Artemis growled. "C'mon, let's take her in."

"_Excuse_ me?"

This time, a dark haired kid, about my age stepped up. Robin was wearing a black domino mask and his face conveyed no emotion, but his voice held a tiny note of pity. "We've got orders to take you in to see Batman." He shrugged. "You're dangerous," he said, as if that explained _everything._

Just in case you've been living under a rock for the last however-many-decades, I'll explain something to you: when the Batman wants to see you, you had better get out of town quick. He's known for getting full confessionals out of the hardest criminals with just a glance, and gangsters were known to wake up crying because they'd dreamt of what the Batman would do to them if they were ever caught.

Suffice it to say, I was _not_ about to go in for a "little chat" with him.

"And what if I decline your generous offer?" I asked, throwing in a smug grin.

Artemis smiled, and I could tell that she'd been hoping I'd ask that. "We take you down."

Aqualad hurriedly interrupted. "But we don't want a fight. We just want you to come peacefully."

I smiled sweetly. "I don't do peaceful."

Then I charged. I sprinted straight at Robin, hands raised as though I was about to attack. He evaded easily, with a series of (I must admit) wicked-awesome backflips. Unfortunately, the effort was wasted, because I couldn't have attacked if I'd wanted. Instead, I sprinted through the gap he'd left and into one of the neighborhoods that bordered Carlos's Burgers.

This particular neighborhood was in the rich part of town, where houses were not so much houses as small mansions, all the streetlights worked, and there weren't broken beer bottles and cigarette butts littering the streets. Houses here were clean and freshly painted, with nice little picket fences and orderly flower beds. People who lived here made significantly more than your average American, which is why I didn't feel the least bit guilty when a shiny red Porsche that I sprinted past spontaneously combusted. Just another fire for the pep squad to deal with.

The Young Justice League was shouting at me, standard protocol things that they probably shouted at every escaping criminal. I couldn't really tell what they were saying, but it sounded suspiciously like "Stop in the name of the law."

I rolled my eyes. Typical.

Adrenaline-fueled flames sputtered off of my back, scorching my jacket, probably ruining it. I sighed—it had been one of my favorites.

I'd heard that running in a straight line makes you an easier target, so I didn't. Instead, I ran in zigzags, trying to make myself as unpredictable as possible. Fortunately, I was right, and various arrows, projectiles, and ropes of water sailed harmlessly past me, hitting trees, cars, and the occasional lawn gnome.

Suddenly, the projectiles ceased altogether. Then, there was a huge grunt behind me. Confused, I stopped and turned.

All of the teens were standing about a hundred yards behind me. All were grinning smugly. Superboy was standing just ahead of them and panting slightly, looking extremely self-satisfied. For a second, their pleased expressions surprised me. But then a reflected light flashed somewhere overhead, and I saw _it_.

A huge black Land Rover (thrown by Superboy) sailed soundlessly through the night air, streetlamps reflecting off of its glossy black paint. It looked weightless as it flew. It would have almost been beautiful, or at least awe-inspiring, if it hadn't been about to squish me like a bug.

Wait, no. The projectile wasn't heading _for_ me. It was heading for a spot about fifteen yards _in front_ of me.

I realized with a start what Superboy had done. When the Land Rover fell, it'd block my way, leaving me a sitting duck. Of course, there was always the possibility that I could sprint ahead, but even Kid Flash probably wouldn't have made it past the Land Rover in time. If I tried that, I'd end up a human pancake. No one would be that stupid.

Obviously, Superboy underestimated my stupidity.

Instead of stopping and waiting to get caught like a good little criminal, I sprinted ahead, doubling my speed, my feet slapping against the asphalt. I'd never run faster, but even I could see that at my current speed, the Land Rover and I would reach the same spot at the same time. Which would be incredibly painful. For me, I mean. Not so much for the car.

I heard a twang as Artemis fired an arrow. The irony of the situation hit me: I could either be killed by a car or killed by an arrow. My choice.

Or maybe not.

I grinned. I knew that I could survive this, and escape at the same time.

Instead of sprinting, I _dove_ forward, volleyball-player style. I slid a couple yards, and the asphalt tore the skin on my hands and ripped my jeans, leaving little bits of gravel in the cuts. It hurt, but I wasn't in as much pain as I would be in if my plan failed.

There was a metallic _thud_ as the arrow hit the car, accompanied by the frantic yells of the Young Justice League. Their voices mixed so that I couldn't tell what any one person was saying. I think "Move, you idiot!" is probably pretty close to the truth.

My heart was beating fast, and raw panic surged through me. My brain was screaming at me to move, dammit, or else I'd be a grease spot on the pavement. There'd be nothing left of me to bury.

Somehow, I managed to ignore every instinct and just lay there in a straight line, faced pressed into the gravel, not daring to breath.

And then the world crashed down around me.

Okay, not really. But the car collided with the ground in an ear-shattering crash. I was expecting the noise to be accompanied by some pain, and maybe a tunnel with a bright light at the end, but surprisingly, it wasn't.

Okay, well, there was _some_ pain. I had some fresh new bruises that were _definitely_ gonna hurt in the morning, and my ears were ringing like an alarm clock. But really, it wasn't the kind of pain you expect when a car falls on you. And my vision was completely tunnel-free.

Tentatively, I opened one eye, and brought my head up, immediately banging it on the bottom of the car. I winced in pain, but it was a good kind of pain, the kind that tells you you're alive.

I'd ended up samwiched between the bottom of the car and the asphalt. The only thing holding the car above me was a set of rapidly deflating tires. I was shocked, squished, but still very much alive. Ropes from the arrow (turns out that it'd been the kind that erupts into a net on impact) wrapped around the underside, tangled around tires and strange metal parts that I couldn't name. The impact of the crash had crumbled the asphalt in places, leaving fresh potholes that the residents of the gated community would _not_ be pleased with. Strangly, the car was pretty much intact, except for a few popped tires and shards of glass that rained down from the shattered windows. My stomach turned when I noticed how close the car tire was to my left hand: if I'd have landed a few centimeters over, I'd be out an arm.

Flames sputtered along my back, a result of the adrenaline rush I was having. Suddenly, I realized that being under a car and flaming at the same time was a very bad thing. I knew from experience (or at least a few good action films) that cars+fire= explosive results. Literally.

Frantically, I scrambled out from under the car. Tiny drippets of oil and the ropes from the arrow had already caught on fire, and it wouldn't be long before the whole car went.

The oil flared into a campfire-sized blaze, and I couldn't help but long for a couple marshmallows to roast. Obviously, the Young Justice League noticed the fire too, and on the other side of the car, I could hear Aqualad shouting orders.

"You two go after her! We'll stay and put out this."

I didn't know who was coming after me, and I didn't stick around to find out, instead sprinting further into the neighborhood. Actually, I was kind of pleased. The team had shrunk to two, and my odds of escaping were getting better and better.

I ran to the sidewalk, knowing that I could evade my pursuers by running through a couple of lawns. I was just about to jump a tidy little white-picket fence when, from somewhere behind me, there was a sound like a hummingbird and a _whoosh_ of air. I realized with a start who they'd sent after me: Kid Flash. I didn't have time to defend myself before I felt him wrap his hand around my wrist…

…and immediately pull it back. The flames were gone now, but they'd left a heat that'd seared Kid Flash's hand, even through his glove.

"Ow!" he cried, and stopped a second to examine his hand.

I took the opportunity to vault over the fence, landing squarely in a flower bed and crushing the petunias. Whoops.

I shook myself free of the flowers, kicking over a couple tacky lawn gnomes in the process. Then I sprinted through the front lawn and into the back, past the side of cute little two-story house, where I stopped dead.

I'd expected the nice little fence to continue all the way around, but it didn't. Instead it grew to a massive, nine-foot fence made of perfectly smooth cedar boards—not a toe hold in sight. Ain't no way I'd be climbing that.

In front of the fence stood one of those cute, little-kid's playgrounds. You know, the kind with the swings, playhouse, and monkey bars, all in one. It looked well-loved—the rope swing was fraying, the red plastic slide was cracked, and the red-and-white striped roof over the playhouse was torn through. In fact the whole yard could have used some TLC—the grass was brownish and sparse, flower bushes were withering, and miscellaneous kitchen appliances had been deposited carelessly around the area. The edge of a roof was just barely visible over the fence, right across from the playground. The distance between the two didn't seem too far, and both stood just higher than that bloody fence. Suddenly, and idea hit me.

Before I could put my plan into action, there was a whirring noise. Tiny water droplets began to pelt the back of my hands, each one making a sizzling sound as it hit and each one hurting like hell. I hissed in pain. Kid Flash had turned on the sprinklers.

That made getting out of here all the more urgent. With the water pelting me, it wouldn't be long before I wouldn't be able to use my flames. Even though they were an uncontrollable pain-in-the-ass, let's face it, they were my best (and only) weapon. I needed them.

Without pausing, I scrambled up the ladder leading to the monkey bars. It was old and greatly in need of repair, and each bar shuddered under my weight, ready to collapse. With every step I took, my heart began to beat a little faster. Have I mentioned that I'm not a fan of heights?

I'd just reached the top of the monkey bars when I heard that hummingbird sound. Instinctively, I pulled my ankle up and felt the rush of air that meant Kid Flash had just missed grabbing me. I kicked my foot downward, and it connected with his hand. He gave a gasp of pain.

_Take that, loser!_ I grinned and began to crawl across the top of the monkey bars, trying to get into the middle. The bars were worn and rough, and splinters pierced my palms. I winced, but the bars were shaking under me, so I didn't allow myself to take my hands off of them. If I fell and my hands weren't on the bars so that I could catch myself, I'd plummet to the ground. At the very best, I'd break an arm or two. At the worst…well, let's just say that I was praying fervently to any deity willing to listen.

For a bit, Kid Flash tried to follow me, but he felt the bars shake under his weight, which quickly put an end to _that_ great idea. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw him step off the rung; if he'd decided to come up, the bars would've collapsed under us.

Shakily, I pulled myself into the center of the bars, then twisted to face the fence. I winced when I saw the distance between the bars and the roof. It seemed a lot further than it had from the ground. Could I really make that?

Meanwhile, Kid Flash had switched tactics from going up after me to just being as annoying and distracting as possible.

"Get down from there, you could kill yourself," he protested.

I ground my teeth in frustration. He was breaking my concentration. "Here's hoping, buddy," I shot back.

I wasn't looking at his face but I imagine it must've had shock written all over it. "You _want_ to kill yourself?"

I shrugged, still mentally evaluating the distance from the bars to the roof. It was pretty far, but if I pushed out far enough when I jumped, I could probably grab the rain gutter, then drop to the ground. I might even escape without a broken bone.

"Well, it'd be better than being dragged in chains before the Batman," I sighed.

"You really think we're going to do that?"

I sighed. _Um…yes. _"I don't know. Are you?"

Shakily, I began to stand up, balancing my weight between two beams. My stomach did a little backflip as I tried to balance my weight evenly on the bars. I held my arms out for balance, but I knew that if I didn't jump soon, well…I wouldn't have to worry about _that _anymore.

"What are you doing?" Kid Flash yelled up. His voice sounded a bit…panicked. Could it be that he didn't want to end up scraping my brains off of the ground?

Against principle, I looked down just long enough to send him a cocky grin. "I'm escaping," I said. Then I pushed off of the monkey bars and _jumped._

For a couple seconds, I was weightless in space, floating fifteen feet off of the ground. Kid Flash's awed face passed briefly underneath me, followed by the fence. I felt like a bird—completely and utterly free.

_I could get used to this,_ I thought.

Then my flight stopped, and my heart plummeted into my stomach. I was falling.

Resisting the urge to scream, I frantically stretched my arms forward, feeling desperately for the smooth plastic of the gutter.

My fingertips brushed the edge of the cool, hard plastic, and I sighed in relief. My hands grabbed instinctively at the edge of the gutter…

And missed.

Helplessly, I plummeted towards the concrete. When I landed, I was going to break something, and I could do nothing but pray that my neck wouldn't snap. Instinctively, I curled up, protecting my skull with my hands, bracing myself for impact.

As I slammed into the concrete, my breath was knocked out of me in a _whoosh, _leaving me gasping on the concrete like a dying fish. Something hard and sharp dug into my side, and I gave a little scream of pain. Waves of pain shot up my spine and stars danced in front of my eyes as my vision started to fade into black. I shook my head to clear it. I knew that if I wanted to stay one step ahead of Young Justice, passing out in an alleyway wasn't the way to do it.

I laid on the ground for a couple of seconds, getting my breath back. Then I slowly sat up, examining myself for injuries. I wasn't as bad off as I'd expected, but that's not saying much. I leaned against the wall and took a quick glance down at my side where I saw a bright smear of crimson. My stomach turned at the sight of all that blood, and I looked away.

Gingerly, I felt at my side. I could feel something sharp and hard: a shard of broken glass. The glass sent new waves of pain through my torso every time I moved, and I knew that I had to get it out, even though the thought sickened me.

I braced myself against the wall, my hand against the shard. I took a deep breath, and in one swift movement, ripped it out.

Agony raced through my chest, and I bit my lip to keep from screaming. My teeth broke the skin on my lip and the metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. Tears streamed from my closed eyes, and I pressed my hand on my side, trying desperately to stop the white-hot pain.

Frantically, I ripped a strip of fabric off of my T-shirt to use as a makeshift bandage. I tied it tight around my stomach, my fingers fumbling at the knot. The pressure of the bandage numbed the pain somewhat, and I was able to shakily stand, using the wall as support.

With a start, I recognized where I was. Heck, I even knew the house that my blood was being smeared on—a little, two-story thing with peeling, off-white paint, broken windows, and the distinct smell of alcohol surrounding it. It was in a small neighborhood in the northern part of town, a poorer area, which explained the massive fence dividing the two places. I knew the alleys by heart; I'd spent multiple hours here playing tag with little friends, back before the town's parents learned that I was a health risk to their children.

Of course, that had all been during the day. During the night, you didn't want to be caught outside in this neighborhood unless you were big and tough and had a bunch of big, tough friends with you. Being neither big _nor_ tough, I was going to have some problems.

I stumbled away from the fence, wanting to put as much distance between myself and Kid Flash as possible. Adrenaline began to numb the pain, and I was able to quicken my pace, randomly taking turns that I knew from memory but anyone else would get lost in instantly. Shadowy buildings lined the dark, damp alleys. Working lights were few and far between, but those that were there cast ominous shadows on everything, and I couldn't go a few steps without hearing a rustling noise or seeing a suspicious shadow. If I hadn't spent so much time here as a kid, I'd have been on the ground, freaking out. As it was, I was only mildly terrified.

Suddenly, a laugh sounded overhead. The laugh was slightly insane, but I recognized it immediately from nighttime news. It was a laugh that was almost as famous as the person it belonged to.

I pressed myself to the wall, expecting Robin to drop down at any minute and find me. Turns out, I was only half right.

A tiny silver sphere plummeted down into the alley, glinting in the dim light. It collided with the ground and exploded on impact into a greenish-colored cloud of gas. I caught a whiff of the gas and my head began to spin—it was sleeping gas.

Burying my head into my shirt collar, I sprinted through the cloud, holding my breath all the way. I rounded a corner and stopped, pressing myself flat against the wall and letting the dizziness slowly subside. A couple seconds later, I heard Robin land on the asphalt, no doubt checking for my unconscious body.

I took the opportunity to slink away into the darkness, going as quietly as possible. I was in pretty bad shape, and I knew that the chance of me making it through a head-on fight with any of the young heroes was even smaller than it had been. I had to find someplace to hide.

Clutching my side, I staggered around a corner and saw my saving grace.

It was a huge, dark green box with a black plastic lid. It reeked like a sewage treatment plant and flies swarmed around it, trying to find a way to access the refuse inside. Garbage littered the ground around it, and it looked as though it hadn't been emptied in weeks.

It was the Dumpster sent from heaven.

I ran to it and flipped open the lid. The smell of rotting garbage blasted out and I gagged, but forced myself to clamber up the sides and into the filth. Silently, I closed the lid, not wanting to attract the attention of Robin or Kid Flash.

Once the lid was closed, it was pitch-black. The smell was even _worse_ when there was nowhere for it to escape to, and I had to shove my mouth into my sleeve to stop from passing out from the stench. I thought of lighting a fire to clear the smell, but realized that burning garbage would smell almost as bad as normal garbage.

I dug into the garbage, covering myself with empty cans, rotting fruit peels, pieces of paper, and something slimy. I covered my mouth to stop from retching and pressed myself to the smooth metal walls. I pressed my hand to my wound, wanting to keep it as clean as possible, but in a Dumpster, chances of that were low. It was pitch-black but I could hear the flies buzzing and feel the garbage pressing in around me.

I was going to need a shower when I got out of here.

I heard footsteps on the other side of the container and tried to silence my breathing. I didn't know who it was, but I could guess.

"I thought you said she went this way." It sounded a heck of a lot like Kid Flash. Crap.

"She _did._ Or at least, I think she did." Robin's voice this time. Double crap.

"Well, she's gone now." He sighed. "That kid's tougher than she looks. I don't know how she escaped a fall like that unharmed."

Well, not totally unharmed. Still, I couldn't help but feel a rush of pride.

"Dumb luck, I guess. C'mon, let's go help put out those fires."

Their footsteps grew softer as they began to walk away. I sat, breathing hard, pressed against the side. But I'd done it. I'd escaped the Young Justice League.

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**Soo...I'm wondering if anyone actually reads what I put here. Like, I could say HELP HELP MY HOUSE IS ON FIRE AND THE ZOMBIES ARE ATTACKING SOMEBODY SAVE ME! and no one would care, because they don't read it anyway. Hmm...**

**Anywho, if you do read this and like proving people wrong (which is totally fine by me) then, please review. Even if you don't like proving people wrong, please review. I've gotten less than 1 review per chapter & I'm feeling kinda lonely. Please!**

**Thanks! Hope you enjoyed!**


	6. Goodbye

**Thanks to the people who reviewed-I'm so glad you enjoyed it. Thanks for the self-confidence boost!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Young Justice. If I did, I would be typing this from the bedroom of my five-story bouncy house.**

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I stayed, cramped in that Dumpster, for what felt like a couple of hours, but was probably much longer. I was terrified to move or even to breathe too loud, afraid that Young Justice might suddenly come back and find me. If that happened, I was dead meat. There was no way I could hope to escape.

Every movement outside made me jump, every noise sounded like one of the young heroes. My nerves were working overtime, my heart jumping at the slightest hint of motion.

Constant vigilance, though, is exhausting. Combined with the stress of the past 24 hours, that combination eventually put me to sleep, and I drifted off, there beneath the rubbish. As it turns out, the inside of a Dumpster is warm and, aside from the smell, quite comfortable. You should try it sometime.

By the time I awoke, the grey light of dawn was already filtering in through the crack underneath the lid, reflecting off of crumpled tin cans. It was early morning, around six or seven. I realized with a start that if I'd crawled in the Dumpster somewhere around nine or ten, that meant I'd been cramped in there a good eight hours, at the very least.

I knew it was safe to come out. Even Young Justice wouldn't be _that_ persistent.

I clambered out of the Dumpster, shaking bits of rubbish out of my hair and clothes. I was filthy, my cut throbbed, and, okay, I'll admit it: I probably wouldn't be able to make the long walk home.

I staggered out of the damp alley and into the bright light and noise of Main Street, about a mile from my house. Not too far, but in my condition, it seemed like the length of the Appalachian Trail.

It was only around six in the morning, and dawn was creeping slowly over the small shops that lined the road. Still, parked cars lined the streets and people could be glimpsed inside the shops, preparing for the busy day ahead.

Briefly, I considered taking a bus or cab home, but a glimpse of my reflection in a store window quickly changed my mind.

I had lost my jacket somewhere, and my thin white T-shirt left my bare arms exposed, revealing cuts, scrapes, bruises, dirt smears…no inch of skin was left un-marred. Both my shirt and my jeans were blood-spattered, dirt-stained, ripped, sweaty, burnt in places—they were barely clinging on to my body. My hair was a tangled mess, bruises and cuts slashed across my face, bits of garbage clung to me, I smelled like a sewer treatment plant. To make matters worse, the slash across my side had started bleeding again. I looked as though I'd just come out of a small but bloody war and hadn't yet decided whether I was dead or alive.

So, getting a ride was out-of-the-question. I would have called Ethan, but my phone was busy keeping my jacket company wherever I'd left it. It looked like I would be walking.

The walk took so much longer than it should have. On any other day, I could have cleared the distance to our house in twenty minutes. Now, it took me that long just to walk one block. The sun was already well on its journey across the sky when I got to our run-down little corner of Paradise.

My keys were in the same place I'd left my jacket and phone, so I was expecting to have to curl up on the front step and wait for Ethan to come home from work and let me in. Fortunately, I didn't have to.

Peeling blue paint and rusting hinges combined to make the worst noise since people first began to scratch blackboards. Our tiny door swung open to reveal Ethan, still in the rumpled black slacks and blue work shirt he'd been wearing yesterday. His normally cheerful expression had been replaced by one of anger.

"Where the _heck_ have you been? You said you were stepping out for some dinner, and…and…" he stepped back, as if noticing me for the first time. "And you're bleeding. _What happened_?"

I shrugged. "Young Justice happened."

His anger melted away and was replaced by shock. "They found you already?"

I sighed. "Yeah, and apparently Batman has a warrant out for my arrest or something. I'm thinking they know where I live, soo…" I trailed off, letting him make his own conclusions.

"So you have to leave." I shrugged. I think if I'd've said "yes", I'd have broken down and cried right then and there. For six years, Ethan had been my family. I wasn't ready to let go of him just yet.

"Oh. You're _bleeding_," he said again.

"Um, _yeah_," I said, a bit testily. "I think we've gone over this already."

"Well, come inside. You can't just stand on the porch bleeding."

I was going to reply that I _could_ and I _would_, but well…I _was_ bleeding. So instead, I followed Ethan into the kitchen, where he made me sit down on the table.

Ethan rummaged around under the sink for a while, finally emerging with an ancient first-aid kit that had been there as long as I could remember. A thick coat of dust covered the plastic-wrap and exploded into a cloud of white when Ethan pulled the wrap off.

Gently, Ethan unwrapped my makeshift bandage. Once he saw what it covered, he let out a tiny gasp of shock.

"How bad is it?" I asked, suddenly nervous.

"It's…not _too_ bad," Ethan said. He was a terrible liar.

"_Ethan."_

He simply went to the sink and began to fill a bowl with steaming water, ignoring my question. For a while, I thought that he wouldn't answer, but then he said, "I don't suppose you have time for stitches before you leave."

"That bad?"

"Worse. It looks likeyou were mauled by a bear," he commented as he took a towel, dipped it in the water, and began to swab at my wound. I gritted my teeth in pain. I knew that the cut needed to be cleaned, but it felt like Ethan was cleaning it with broken glass.

"Well, at least I'll get a cool scar."

"This is _hardly_ cool." He smoothed some paste on my wound. It felt cool and smelled of mint, and I sighed in relief.

"Well, I faced down Young Justice and escaped with only this scar. That's at least a _little_ awesome, right?"

"To the Joker, maybe. To normal people, not so much. What happened, anyway?"

"I…um…I tripped." Off a fifteen-foot playhouse and onto some broken glass, but Ethan didn't need to know that.

"Yeah, and I'm the Queen of England." He began to rummage in the red-plastic first-aid kit for bandages.

"_Hey!_ I was being honest!" Okay, so maybe I should have told him the truth. But still, some little voice inside my head kept insisting that some things were better kept secret.

"Uh-_huh. _We both know you weren't." He took a long strip of cloth bandages and began wrapping them tightly around my stomach, like mummy bandages. The pressure relieved the pain a bit, and I smiled.

"Thanks, Ethan."

He rolled his eyes and gave me a grin. "You're _welcome_. Now go take a shower, you're reeking up the kitchen."

Obediently, I hopped off of the table and headed into the tiny bathroom that Ethan and I shared.

It was less of a bathroom and more of a closet, really. Mildew that could never quite be killed off grew between the baby blue tiles that covered the floor. In one corner, a scuffed mirror hung over the tiny, stained basin of the sink. In the other, a shower stood, surrounded by colorful shower curtain doing its best to brighten up the room with its gaudy pattern of tropical fish.

I cranked up the shower dial as far as it would go. The water that streamed out would scald any normal human but was still too cold for me.

For me, water was a funny and dangerous thing. Of course, I needed some to live. But the line between enough water and too much was much thinner and easier to cross for me than it was for most people. It had something to do with my flames, I knew: any water that touched my when I was casting flames or had just done so would burn like acid. Even when my powers hadn't been acting up, submerging myself in water was _not_ a good thing. Heat helped, and the hotter the water was, the easier it was to endure it. Still, if I stayed in hot water too long, I'd start to feel the acidic pain. Then I'd get dizzy, maybe even pass out. After that…well, I didn't want to know.

Ethan had an idea that, if the water reached a certain temperature, I'd be able to stay in it almost indefinitely. He'd even offered to take me to the geysers in Yellowstone to test it out, though I don't know how he'd ever be able to afford it. I'd turned him down, of course. If anyone saw me jump in those geysers and _survive_, it'd be like a flashing neon sign saying, "Hello, I'm a freak". In addition, if he was _wrong_, I'd be dead long before I got the chance to say "I told you so."

The heat was already beginning to fog up the mirrors, so I got into the shower, clothes and all. (It's not like I could ruin my clothes worse than I had). For a couple seconds, I just stood there letting the water roll over my shoulders. It felt glorious.

Then I got to work scrubbing off the effects of the past evening. Dried blood and dirt came off in rivulets, and the water at the bottom of the shower was turned an ugly brownish-grey shade.

I washed the garbage out of my hair with a shampoo that smelled of oranges and then stood for a couple seconds, letting the heat relax my tense muscles. I would've loved to stay in the shower forever, but I didn't want to end up passed out on the floor, so I shut the water off and wrapped myself in a fluffy white bath towel that was immediately smeared with the grime that I hadn't managed to wash off.

Steam hung in the air and dampened every surface in the bathroom. I was planning to go change in my room, but when I opened the bathroom door, I saw that Ethan had left a pile of clothes on the rug outside.

I picked up the clothes and brought them into the bathroom to examine them, shutting the door so the heat of the bathroom wouldn't escape into the hall.

There was a red T-shirt, a pair of black capris that were almost cargo pants, and a new pair of black tennis shoes. The tags were clipped off, but they looked brand-spanking-new, which in itself was weird: Ethan and I rarely bought clothing from anywhere other than the thrift store. They were soft as velvet, but the cloth looked more like spandex (God, I hoped not). There was something strange about the material that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

I replaced my sopping wet clothes with these new ones, tossing the old ones in the trash. Then, I used my towel to wipe off the steam on the mirror and assessed my reflection.

The shirt was tight-fitting but still comfortable, though it didn't bother to compliment my curves, probably because I had none. It was a sort of wine-red color, with just a slight turtleneck and sleeves that reached my elbows. The pants reached my knees and were, indeed, cargo pants, covered with pockets. I'd never really liked cargo pants, but these were actually semi-attractive. The tennis shoes were a plain black, but insanely comfortable, like I was walking on clouds.

The weird thing, though, was that on each, there was a white X in a circle: the logo of Lexcorp. I didn't really know what Lexcorp did, but I was pretty sure it didn't design clothes. I thought it had something to do with technology, but the clothes didn't seem very technologically advanced.

Suddenly, it hit me: these clothes must be fireproof. If so, they would be invaluable to me—and they would also be ridiculously expensive. Ethan could never have afforded them, which meant that they'd either been stolen or given to him. Breaking into Lexcorp was like breaking into Fort Knox: it just wasn't done. So stealing was out. But why would someone from Lexcorp give my brother clothes? _Girls'_ clothes, at that.

I pushed the thought out of my mind. New clothes were new clothes; I wasn't about to question a freebie.

I wandered into my room. Everything was exactly as I had left it yesterday morning: an unmade bed, dirty clothes all over the floor, a backpack full of untouched homework sitting by the door.

I grabbed the backpack, overturned it, and shook all my school books out onto the already filthy floor. Then I began to stuff it full of clothes: jeans, a warm jacket, T-shirts, shoes—anything and anything that I might need. It was a big, green and blue pack, the kind that hikers use, so it fit a lot of stuff.

I rummaged through the bottom drawer of my white dresser, tossing aside mismatched socks and worn-out T-shirts until I found it: an old spaghetti-sauce jar filled with crumpled bills.

I'd held a job at a small café for a couple months before I set fire to the espresso machine. It was a well-paying job, and they turned a blind eye to the fact that I'd been underage, so I'd been sad to lose it. Most of the money I'd made I'd given to Ethan for various expenses, but I'd managed to save around $200, knowing that I'd need it eventually. I was glad that I had.

Stuffing the jar in my backpack, I headed over to my bed and stuck a hand underneath, pulling out a worn cardboard box.

The box was decorated with marker drawings in a child's messy scrawl—purple flowers and something that looked like a unicorn. Careful cursive words and fairies drawn by a practiced artist swirled around the flowers and I smiled to see my mother's handwriting once again.

I'd made this box with my mother. She'd called it a "memory box"—I didn't understand what she meant, but I loved making it just the same. We'd made it together, then filled it partway with photographs, dried flowers, Christmas ornaments—memories. I'd brought it with me when I left Daddy and kept adding to it ever since.

I hesitated a bit, then pulled two objects of my bedside table: a strip of photographs of me and Ethan that we'd taken in a photo booth at the state fair, and the golden bracelet he'd given me. I slipped both into the box, then stuffed it into the top of the backpack.

Slinging the pack over my shoulder, I snuck quietly out into the kitchen and to the door. I was hoping to make it out without Ethan noticing—I didn't want to be forced to say goodbye to him. Unfortunately, I wasn't that lucky.

I was halfway out the door when I heard Ethan's voice. "So you're really going."

I didn't turn—I didn't want to see the sadness that I knew would be on his face. "You know I have to."

He sighed. "Yeah, I do. It's just…I was hoping…"

I put the back of my hand to my eyes, and when I pulled it away, I was surprised to find that it was damp. "Don't be stupid, Ethan. I can come back. For Christmas and stuff."

Suddenly, I felt strong arms encircle my waist, hugging me from behind. I leaned into the hug, letting the tears drip from my eyes.

"I'm gonna miss you, kid."

I pulled away. Any more of _this_ and I'd be bawling like a little kid, and _that_ would sure be embarrassing to write about. "Bye, Ethan," I whispered.

Then I headed out the door and into the mid-afternoon sunlight, and I left the little apartment that I'd called home for six years.

I didn't look back. Not once.

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**Okay, so it was shorter with less action-I'm sorry! It had to be done! Hopefully the less chapter will have more action, but there was really no way to combine these two.**

**And please, PLEASE-remember to review. I don't care if it's a two word "Good story". I don't care if it's an essay of critiques longer than the entire series of Harry Potter COMBINED. Just please, say _something_. Your feedback makes it all worth it. :)**

**Thanks again, everyone!**


	7. Train Rides and Fried Sandwiches

**Whoo! New chappie! Thank you so much for all the reviews (I'm glad you guys like it)!**

**Oh, and I got a question, so here's my best answer: Lissie's leaving because she knows that the Batman knows that she's been setting fires, and she knows that she's going to get in trouble for it. She's more than a little afraid of the Batman, so she leaves in case he decided to check her house (which she knows will happen eventually). Also, Ethan doesn't want her to join the Young Justice League (for reasons which I shall explain later...MWAHAHA!) and she's so loyal to him that she won't join if he doesn't want her to (unless she's forced to...so she leaves because she thinks she'll be forced to if she stays). Basically, she's afraid that Young Justice is gonna come back by her house and haul her in to see the Batman...which, considering the way she escaped, would be a Very Bad Thing.**

**Confusing, I know. But I hope that at least somewhat answers your question. :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Young Justice, just my OC, blah blah blah...why do I have to do this every time...**

* * *

"Where _are_ your parents, girl?" The lady behind the ticket counter was a pretty, African-American woman with topaz colored eyes and flawless, cocoa-colored skin. She raised one perfectly-shaped eyebrow skeptically at me, like she didn't believe a word I said.

I gave my best good-little-angel smile. "I'm traveling alone."

"Children under the age of sixteen must be accompanied by an adult." Even in the crowded, noisy train station, her voice managed to sound harsh and loud.

_Crap_. I hadn't thought that I'd need an adult to vouch for me. Fortunately, I'm a pretty excellent liar.

"Oh, _please,_" I said, widening my eyes a bit to play up on the "innocent" look. "I'm visiting my…grandparents. It's…uh…it's the first time I've been allowed to travel on my own and…and my parents wanted to give me the chance to buy my own ticket."

"I'm not seein' any parents, girl."

"They're…uh…" I swiveled my head around, searching for a couple that was old enough to pass as my parents. My eye settled on a couple reading newspapers on some chairs next to Platform 7.

"They're right there," I said, pointing. The couple I chose is young. They're both blonde, the girl lean and toned, the guy muscular, with a beard and moustache. Both are good-looking.

Both look absolutely nothing like me.

"_Those_ are your parents?"

"I'm adopted."

"_Riiight._" She sighed. "Where did you say you were going, again?"

I scanned the billboard, looking for a train that departs soon. "Uhh…Central City." As soon as I said it, I winced. That's the city The Flash and his protégé protect, and with the Batman after me, being near a member of the Justice League was a very bad idea. Still, it was too late to take it back. It's better than going to Gotham, at least.

The ticket lady sighed, a tired look on her face."Fine. I'm not supposed to do this, but I'll sell you the ticket, if…"

"If what?" I asked eagerly. At that point, I was willing to cut off my right arm if she asked it.

"If you can prove to me that they're your parents."

I couldn't, of course, but she didn't need to know that. "How?"

She grinned. "Go over and hug them—a real hug. If they're your parents, I assume they'll love you enough to hug you back. If not, I call security."

_What kind of proof is that? _I think, but I already know the answer. It's the kind of proof that would be funny to watch—_if_ they weren't my parents. Clearly, she expected me to chicken out. No one would want to just hug two total strangers. But I wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of seeing me admit my mistake. I grinned, handing over two rumpled twenty-dollar bills. "In that case, one ticket to Central City, please."

Slightly shocked, the lady took my money, handing me a glossy white train ticket in return. I pocketed the ticket, then turned to look at the couple.

They both had muscles on muscles—definitely _not_ the kind of people you want to pick a fight with. I winced. What have I gotten myself into?

"Well, go on," the lady said. Is it just me, or does she sound smug?

I gritted my teeth, and in one swift movement, strode over to the woman and envelop her in a hug, newspaper and all.

"Goodbye, _mother_!" I said, stressing the "mother" bit.

She gave a little cry and her foot jutted out, kicking me in the shin. I winced—she kicks _hard_—but I didn't release my hold.

"Please, just play along," I whispered.

She looked up at my face, and as she saw who I was, her eyes widened, which was weird, 'cause I'd never seen her before in my life. Slowly, awkwardly, she returned the hug, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"What are you _doing_?" her partner asked her, clearly shocked.

"I'm playing along," she whispered, and I couldn't help but smile.

I stood up from the hug and turned to the ticket counter. The woman gave a little nod, and passed the back of her hand over her eyes. Were those _tears_? Jeez, I must be a better actress than I've realized.

I turned, wanting to thank the stranger who helped me. It was nice of her, after all.

But when I looked back, she's not there. I scanned the row of seats, thinking I might have checked the wrong one.

But she was gone.

* * *

The computer monitors in the Batcave were glowing, and messy stacks of paper surround them as the Batman and Robin searched tirelessly for one Lissie Reynolds.

Robin was uncharacteristically silent. He knew that he and his team screwed up the mission—catching that girl should have been child's play. He didn't really think that Batman was _too_ angry—but then, with Batman, it was impossible to tell.

Batman, on the other hand, was baffled. All of Elizabeth's records said that she moved in with this "Ethan" at age eight—but then, he knew that already. But before then—he couldn't find any background, not her mother or father or home. Before the age of eight, it was like Lissie Reynolds didn't exist. He'd tried facial recognition, aliases, passport information, _everything_, but it was like the girl had just popped into existence at age eight.

Obviously, she'd run away from her original home, probably changed her name to throw her parents off of her trail. But still, there would be photos of her _somewhere_. A girl that young couldn't stay on the streets for long—a week or two at most—and couldn't run very far. It would be hard to pair photos of her when she was very young to photos of her now, but even if she'd been on the streets for a couple years, there'd be photos that he could use to bridge the gap.

No, it was more than that. Every human on the planet had records, and if records existed, then Batman could find them. But he couldn't find these. Someone who was very, _very _good with computers had hacked into the system and erased anything and everything that had a connection to Elizabeth Reynolds. Obviously not the girl, she was barely passing her computer sciences class. But if not her, then who?

Suddenly the phone rang, its loud, insistent buzzing shattering the tense silence.

Batman picked it up, and the shrill ring cut out. For Robin's benefit, he set it on speaker.

"Batman." Black Canary's voice echoed around the cavernous room. "I've found your firestarter."

Batman's face registered no emotion, but his voice was a whole other story. "Where?"

"In the Greenwood train station. She took a train to Central half an hour ago."

"How many trackers?" Batman had known Canary for years, and by now, he'd learned to assume that she'd put multiple trackers on her target.

"Eight," said Black Canary proudly.

"Um, excuse me," Robin interrupted, "But how'd you find her anyway?"

Black Canary gave an awkward cough. "She…she…um…she hugged me," she said lamely.

"_What?"_ Robin asked, startled, and even Batman gave a grin.

"Oh, don't act so surprised. For your information, she was trying to pass me off as her mother."

"Do I want to know why?" Batman asked. His face was a mask of calm, but Robin could tell he was trying not to laugh.

"Probably not," Canary admitted. She paused, then said, "I'll tell Flash to keep an eye out, okay?"

"Do that. And…thanks."

Even though Batman couldn't see, Canary smiled. "Any time."

* * *

I found the first tracker when I was halfway to Central. It was a small thing, about the size of a button, pulsing with a faint red light.

I grabbed my backpack and rushed into the restroom, locking the door behind me. The protests of the people I'd pushed aside to get into the restroom drifted faintly through the door, but I didn't care.

I ripped off the button/tracker, than dumped out the contents of my backpack on the restroom floor, scanning for more tiny lights. I checked every inch of my clothes and shoes, inside and out, and even combed through my messy hair, not wanting to miss anything.

I found eight trackers in all.

After re-packing my bag, I gathered all the tracers in my hands and then flushed them, one by one, down the toilet. I grinned as each swirls down the drain.

_I sure hope the Justice League has fun looking for me in the sewer system,_ I thought.

After that, I headed back to my train seat for the duration of the ride. It's not comfortable exactly, but it ranks somewhere above getting all my teeth pulled, _sans_ novocaine.

I stared out the window for a while, watching the autumn countryside flash by. The reds, golds, and oranges flash past my window, their patterns and colors looking a little like my flames. It's pretty, I guess, but in a monotonous sort of way, and soon my thoughts started to wander.

They flashed back to the first time I met Ethan, when I was eight. It seemed so long ago now, but the memories were as sharp as if they happened yesterday.

The first time I'd met him was on a drizzly morning in early March. By that time, I'd been living on the streets for two years. Most people would find that surprising—a six-year-old surviving on her own on the streets is pretty uncommon, after all—but truth be told, it hadn't been too hard once I'd learned to play up the innocent-little-angel look. Women were especially vulnerable to cuteness, and if I picked the right target, I could walk away with a wallet full of cash without ever having to do anything illegal.

I'd moved from town to town, gradually migrating away from the Deep South, where I'd been born and raised. Daddy hadn't really been in a position to come looking for me at the time, but I still kept moving, avoiding him and his buddies (more like henchmen, really).

At the time I met Ethan, I was running from more present danger: a gang known as the Southside Bullets. Actually, they weren't really a gang—more a "theft ring". Most of the members weren't street-hardened thugs, some even came from rich families. But all were vicious in their own ways; all knew how to kill, and no one was afraid to do it.

Their leader, Capone, was a buff sixteen-year-old, dark-haired, olive-skinned, and ruggedly handsome, save for a long scar running from his left cheek to the corner of his jaw. He'd taken me under his wing, even taught me a little about the life of a criminal and how to survive on the streets. The seedy, unwashed members of the gang were anything but trustworthy, but were nice enough—to me, least.

It hadn't been a bad life. Until one day, that is, just at suppertime, when the cops came and invaded Capone's HQ, a run-down little warehouse. Capone himself got away, but almost every other member was arrested. I'm sure they didn't see one of the cops slip me a folded wad of bills just before he took them in. If they did, I hope they didn't make any connections. Most of their sentences would be up by now, and I didn't want any Bullets coming after me for betraying them.

So anyway, I had headed north once again. The Bullets had been kind enough to me, but frankly the body count around their part of town was getting a little too high for me to just sit around and watch as they did their thing. And I'd made good money of the information I'd generously supplied to the cop—the bounty on their heads was quite high, after all.

After taking a couple of wrong busses, I'd somehow ended up in Greenwood, South Dakota, officially the Middle of Nowhere. I was planning on taking another bus out west, maybe to California, but no buses were scheduled to arrive for the next week. I'd wandered around town for _hours_, not knowing where to go, what to do, or who to trust.

Finally, I'd collapsed outside of a run-down little apartment, too exhausted to carry on. I expected to stay there until the rain stopped. Then, maybe I'd try to take a train somewhere—expensive, but better than sleeping outside in the cold.

I'd never expected the door to creak open and Ethan to poke his head out. I didn't think he'd usher me in, dry me off, and feed me pancakes. They were the best pancakes I'd ever tasted, too—warm and buttery and fluffy and absolutely delicious.

He let me stay the night, with the promise that, "Tomorrow, kid, I'm taking you to the foster home. I don't need a little kid around." I'd kept my bags packed, ready to leave the next day, but it never happened.

The same promise followed the next night, followed by the same results the next morning. Every day, Ethan would swear to ship me off to foster care the next morning. And every morning, he'd give me a reason why he couldn't. Sometimes he was too tired, sometimes he was too busy, sometimes he needed help around the house. Eventually, he just stopped promising.

I missed Ethan. A _lot_. I…

"Last, stop, Central Station!" The train captain's booming voice echoed over the speaker system, and I winced—the sound hurt my ears. Still, this was my stop, so I slung my backpack over my shoulder and joined the throng of people already pressing toward the door.

Outside, it was late afternoon, and the sun cast a golden light over everything. The train station stood in the middle of a well-kept park, and laughter echoed from the children playing on the rolling green hills.

Trees lined the park, their leaves changing into autumn reds and golds. Just above their tops, skyscrapers could be seen piercing the sky. Sunlight glinted off of their windows, and they appeared to be glowing. I hadn't seen a skyscraper in years, and their sheer height was awe-inspiring. The park was peaceful: birds sung in the trees and bright flowers bloomed in tidy beds. The area was massive, easily bigger than my entire town, and I was soon lost.

I was slowly beginning to realize that I had no idea where I was going to stay or what I was going to do. I only had around $150, which I could either spend on food or blow on a night in a hotel.

Still, I was strangely optimistic. I'd lived on the streets before, I could do it again. And here in Central, I was anonymous, a luxury I hadn't been granted in the tiny town of Greenwood.

After a while, I looked up from my thoughts and realized that I'd wandered into a central pavilion. A white marble fountain stood in the center: a young girl with flowing stone hair pouring water from a jar. Okay, so it wasn't _too _creative, but it sure was beautiful.

Around the fountain, gravel paths spread outward like spokes on a wheel. Vendors had set up their carts around in a circle, and were selling everything from hotdogs to fried peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches.

I got one of the sandwiches (it was delicious, by the way) and sat on the edge of the fountain. I took my shoes off and dangled them in the cool water—just like the sandwich, it was a very unhealthy thing for me to do, but it felt so good that I couldn't bring myself to care.

Laughter from the children that were splashing in the fountain echoed around me, and as the last light of day filtered through the leafy green trees, I couldn't stop myself from sighing with pleasure.

Suddenly, I felt a tug on my pack. There was that weird zipping sound as someone did their best to unzip it without my noticing, then more tugs as the person rooted around inside.

I whipped around, grabbing the wrist of the thief and dropping what was left of my sandwich in the fountain, where a duck snatched it up. I felt a pang of disappointment. I'd liked that sandwich.

The thief gave a little shriek in alarm. She was about my age, with snow-white hair falling to her waist and skin that was even paler than mine (which is saying something). Her eyes were so pale that it was hard to tell where the white ended and the iris began. They were framed in white eyelashes, and her bloodless pink lips are open in a little "o" of shock. But her appearance isn't the surprising thing about her.

I felt a tingling around my hand and look down. There, just below where my hand was latched around her wrist…well, her hand's _not_ there. There was a swirl of…_smoke_, I guess, and her hand was slowly beginning to piece itself back together, atom by atom. I realized what it was doing from hours of science class that had been pointless at the time, but seemed very valuable now.

It was condensing. Because before that, her hand had been _evaporated_.

I looked back at her face. Her eyes were wide with shock and more than a little terror.

"You weren't supposed to see that," she whispered.

* * *

**Hope you liked it! Please review! I love to hear your feedback...it makes my year :)**

**Thanks everybody!**


	8. Warehouse of the Talented

**Hey guys! I know I've been updating a lot, but that's because I've been getting a lot of assingments, tests, etc. and I won't be able to update for a while, so I'm getting my writing fix now.**

**Once again, thanks for all the reviews! They are greatly appreciated!**

**Disclaimer: You know the drill: I don't own Young Justice, just my OC, etc., etc.**

* * *

You know how, on TV when criminals get caught red-handed, they immediately try to deny their guilt? Sometimes their arguments are insanely stupid ("I only robbed _four_ banks, not five,") but they try anyway.

Yeah, this girl was nothing like that.

Her eyes went wide for a second, then she immediately began telling me how _guilty_ she was.

"I'm sooo sorry, I shouldn't be stealing, it's just that I can't help it, I need the money! I swear I'll never do it again, just _please don't call the cops!"_

'Never do it again?' Yeah, right! So far I trusted this girl about as far as could throw her. So what I said next really surprised me.

"I promise, I'll do community service, I'll…" the girl was still carrying on.

"I'm not going to turn you in," I said calmly.

"I'll change my ways…wait, _what_ did you say?"

I shrugged. "I'm not turning you in." I don't know why I said it. I guess, maybe because in some ways, I was basically in her situation. If someone was threatening to turn me into the Justice League, I would definitely want them to start acting the way I was acting now.

"But…_why_?" She seemed genuinely surprised.

"Well, the way I see it, you hadn't actually _taken_ anything. For all I know, I could have dropped something and you were just putting it back for me. Innocent until proven guilty and all that, right?"

She smiled widely and her pale eyes lit up. "Yeah." Suddenly, she plopped down beside me and stuck her hand out for me to shake. "I'm Blanca, by the way."

_Blanca._ Meaning "white". It fit her. Everything about her (even her clothes—a white tank top and pale pink sweats) was either white or very close to it.

I took her hand and she shook mine vigorously, grinning. "Thanks for that, although I really _was_ stealing. Normally, I'm a lot better at it, but I wasn't myself today. Don't know why."

I took one glance at myself, confused. I didn't look like a hobo, I wasn't dirty or anything, but I definitely _did not_ look like the type of person who'd get their pocket picked. "Why steal from me?"

She shrugged. "I saw the money you used to buy that sandwich. Bad choice, by the way, those things are super fattening. Anyway, I don't know _where_ you're from, but this is the big city. Don't go whipping your cash around like that or you won't be able to hire a doctor after you get mugged."

"Um…okay," I said, not sure exactly how to respond.

"Hey, you look kinda familiar. What was your name again?"

"Um…Elizabeth Reynolds. But you can call me Lissie." I saw no need to hide my real name from her. Then again, If I'd known what was coming next, maybe I would've.

Her eyes widened. "No _way,_" she breathed. "You're that fire-starter the Justice League's looking for. Dude, you're all over the news! You've even got a bounty on your head!"

_Crap. _I didn't think the Justice League would work that fast. I slapped a hand over her mouth to shut her up—I didn't want everyone in Central after me. "Please don't turn me in to them. I know there's a reward, but maybe…"

She laughed as though I'd just told a hilarious joke. "Of course I'm not turning you in! Anyone who can cause that much _hilarious_ chaos in the Justice League is a friend of mine! Besides, I owe you one for not calling the cops."

Relief coursed through me, and I smiled gratefully. "Thank you so much. You've got no idea how much…"

"Don't mention it! Hey, you're from out-of-town, right? 'Cause I know practically _everyone_ in Central, and you definitely don't live here."

"Yeah," I admitted. "I just came from Greenwood, South Dakota."

"Cool. Big town?"

I laughed. "Not at all. It's the middle of nowhere."

She smiled—a pretty smile that gave her cheeks dimples. "That's cool, too. Hey, you got somewhere to stay?"

I sighed. "Not right now, no," I admitted. "I was hoping there might be some homeless shelters that won't ask too many questions, and—"

She opened her mouth into a little "O", feigning shock. "You do _not_ want to stay in a homeless shelter, trust me. Hey, I'm staying with some friends in an old warehouse by the East end. It's a bit of a walk, but I bet we can make it before dark. What do you think—you wanna stay with us?"

"I don't know," I said, unsure. I'd never been good with new people. "Do I have to—"

She smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, they trust me. Any friend of mine is a friend of theirs."

Well—I _did_ need a place to stay. "It sounds great."

"Awesome!" She grabbed my wrist and began pulling me down one of the gravel paths leading out of the park. She had a long stride, and I had to practically run just to keep up. "Go faster," she called over her shoulder. "We don't wanna be caught on the streets after dark."

I spent the next hour-and-a-half being dragged through the streets of Central, sprinting to keep up with Blanca. We made our way through crowds and markets, past high-class stores and offices, even through the subway for a while. We left a wake of disgruntled citizens that Blanca had pushed aside in order to make room for us. I tried to shout apologies over my shoulder, but Blanca just laughed maniacally.

Finally, we made it to the East end and stopped in front of a run-down warehouse. My feet throbbed and I couldn't wait to sit down. Still, I didn't really want to go in _there_.

Most of the windows had been shattered and only a few had been boarded up. Jagged glass surrounded the squat building made of dull grey concrete. Graffiti in eye-blinding colors swirled across the surface, blaring to the world gang names, declarations of undying love, and more than a few cuss words. The distinct aromas of alcohol and cigarette smoke lingered around the building, and if I listened close, I could hear a series of gunshots in the far distance. Litter covered the ground, and the one street light near had burned out. Something reddish-brown was splattered on the concrete under my feet. It had dried long ago, but my stomach still turned at the sight.

Blanca spread her arms wide. "Home sweet home," she announced.

Timidly, I followed her up the steps and through the unlocked front door, into a massive warehouse.

Somehow, the electricity in here still worked, and blinding electric lights illuminated what seemed like miles of garish orange shelves, most still containing boxes that someone forgot to ship. There were squeaks and skittering noises as mice ran across the cracked concrete floor.

Blanca turned to me, grinning. "Isn't it amazing?"

Amazing was _not _the word I'd use to describe it, but I nodded anyway. "I'm…_speechless."_

"I knew you would be. C'mon, we'd better go get you checked in with Blades. He's probably over in Sports Equipment."

I didn't bother to point out that a guy named "Blades" didn't seem like the type of person I'd want to have a friendly chat with. Instead, I obediently followed Blanca, who was already weaving through various shelves, moving deeper into the warehouse.

We ended up in one of those "demo areas" where tents and whatnot were set up for people to try. Sports equipment littered the ground, and I had to pick my way around deflated basketballs, tennis rackets, and old bikes. Racks of fishing poles stood like silent sentrys, and despite the electric glare, I couldn't help but feel a little afraid.

Blanca grabbed my wrist and I gave a little cry of shock. "Stand _veeery_ still," she commanded. Then she called, "Hey, Blades? It's me, Blanca. Where are you?"

Suddenly, there was a _whoosh_ as something came whistling through the air. I gave a little scream and jumped back, almost tripping over a display of basketballs. The projectile embedded itself into the floor where I'd just been standing…was that a _spear?_

As I tried to calm my racing heart, Blanca called out to the emptiness. "Hey, _Blades_!What the heck'd you do that for? Lissie is a _friend_, okay?"

Suddenly, a shadow detached itself from a rack of fishing poles. A boy, maybe a year or two older than me, stepped out into the light.

He was tall and slender and looked faintly Asian, with dark eyes, high cheekbones, and jet-black hair. Despite his slim build, though, his was still muscular and _definitely_ athletic. He wore a plain grey hoodie and ripped black jeans. I could see bulges under his clothes that did _not_ look like muscles, though, and sure enough, when he moved, I could just see the glint of concealed weapons.

"Sorry about that," he said to me, shrugging. "Blanca says you're her friend, but you never can be too sure." He gestured at the spear, which was still quivering from impact. _Where the hell'd he get a spear?_

"It was in the warehouse," he said as if reading my mind. He gestured at an unzipped red tent that I hadn't noticed, and when I looked through the flap, I could just see a store of weapons lining the walls. "We think there may have been an illegal cartel run out of here."

"A _cartel_? Like, for kids' toys and maternity clothing, right?" I asked, gesturing around. "Because really, there's not much else here." Okay, minus the tent full of weapons, but he could have gotten those somewhere else.

"For _weapons_," he said, and two words have never made me feel so stupid. "Nothing big, like bombs or anything, 'cause this is Central and Flash would be down on the cartel in a heartbeat. But some good stuff anyway." Casually, he took out a handgun from where it was strapped to his hip and began to twirl it around his finger. I took a step back, just in case it decided to go off.

"Blades is our weapons expert," Blanca explained. "Blades, this is Lissie. Lissie, this is Blades."

"Hmmph. Blanca, did you have to bring _another_ girl?"

In a heartbeat, Blanca strode forward and gripped the collar of his hoodie in her fist, dragging him so he was looking directly in her eyes. "You have a _problem_ with that?"

It was actually a pretty funny picture: a frail, white-haired girl threatening a buff weapons expert that was at least a head taller than her. In a fight, I would've bet all my money on Blades. But now, he looked absolutely terrified.

"N-no, Blanca, not at all. Girls are great. I love girls."

"I'm glad you think so." She grinned sweetly and released him. He stumbled back a few paces, rubbing his neck.

"Where's everyone else?" Blanca asked to a recovering Blades.

"Last I checked, they were starting a campfire over in the women's department."

Blanca had already turned and was dragging me back the way we'd come. "Thanks, Blades!" she called over her shoulder.

He didn't respond.

Blanca dragged me into a less well-lit area of the warehouse, where racks of revolting women's clothes lay carelessly strewn all over the floor. Most had holes chewed in them by mice, many were even threadbare. Sequins that had fallen off of the dresses covered the ground, and in one corner, a trunk filled with a fortune of sparkling costume jewelry had been overturned, sending fake pearls and broken glass "diamonds" skittering across the floor, adding to the chaos.

An orange glow cast by a flickering campfire illuminated some of the shelves, and people-shaped shadows sat around it, singing an off-key version of "Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall". Bianca dragged me closer until I could pick out the source of the flames: a particularly repulsive dress (size XXXL) was burning, its sequins turning black and melting, it's goldish-pinkish-orangish-blue fabric beginning to char. Someone had dumped a bottle of perfume over the top and it was burning like gasoline, the thick smell of chemicals hanging in the air.

"Hey, guys, it's me," Blanca called, and the song cut out.

"Blanca, you're back!" A girl stood up from the fire, her long blonde hair shining in the firelight. "Who's this?" she asked, suddenly noticing me.

"This is Lissie," she said, shoving me forward to meet the girl. "She's that fire-starter who's been pissing off the Justice League."

"Cool," the girl breathed, her green eyes shining. "I'm Sage, by the way, and that's Inky and Echo." She pointed to the two other teens huddled around the fire, a boy and a girl. They looked like they could be twins, both short but slim and good-looking, both with raven-black hair and sky-blue eyes, but the boys' eyes were clouded over.

I was about to ask what had happened to them, but he answered for me. "I'm blind," he said testily.

Sage rolled her eyes. "I don't know _why_ Echo's so grumpy," she said. "You're like his _hero_. He only wishes he could cause as much chaos to the Justice League as you did."

"_Hey!_ She's not—" Echo began to protest, but I interrupted.

"You guys don't like the Justice League?" True, I wasn't exactly a fan either, but it was pretty rare to find a civilian who was truly against them.

Echo rolled his eyes. "Most people think that the Justice League is the best thing that happened to mankind since humans learned how to breathe. But all they care about is the big stuff. Abuse, robbery, homelessness…that kind of stuff goes on every day and they do nothing to stop it. And they don't care about small-time meta-humans like us."

Blanca leaned over and whispered in my ear. "Don't be fooled by the pretty speech. Echo's pissed because he lost his sight in an attack by the Joker and the Justice League didn't get there fast enough to stop it."

"Hey! I heard that!" Echo yelled, but Blanca was too busy dragging me down by the fire to hear.

"How were the pickings, Blanca?" the raven-haired girl next to Echo asked. Her voice was soft and musical, the kind of sound you could listen to all day and not get tired of hearing.

"Great!" Blanca reached into the pocket of her sweats, bringing out three fat leather wallets that I hadn't noticed before. She tossed them to the girl, who caught them with ease.

"Lined?"

"Only the best," Blanca grinned.

"I thought you said…" I began, but Blanca gave me a look, cutting me off.

"Stealing's the only way we make any money. We _could_ make some from Sage, because she's a healer, but she refuses to charge for her services."

"Hey! If you saw some of the people that come to me, you wouldn't be charging, either."

"Yeah, yeah," Blanca said, waving their hand. "Inky could probably make us some money too, but no one will buy from her."

"Buy? What do you—" I started, but then I took one good look at Inky and I stopped.

Almost every inch of her skin was covered in tattoos. Birds, animals, people, dragons, unicorns, you name it. They were beautiful and so lifelike that they appeared to be moving. And then, I realized that the reason they _looked_ like they were moving is because, well, they _were_.

She smiled pleasantly, and three red butterflies fluttered across her cheek and over her nose. "Everyone's got a talent here," she said. "Sage heals, Blanca evaporates, Echo uses echolocation that rivals any bat's. I," she said, stretching her arms and admiring the stag that was galloping up them, "am an _artist."_

"That's _amazing_," I whispered. "You could make a fortune off that."

She frowned. "Yeah, but no one will buy from me. They don't know if it's safe, and neither do I."  
"So you need a test subject," I said.

"Yeah, basically."

"Well, okay," I shrugged. "I've always wanted a tattoo."

She looked at me for a second, eyes narrowed. Then, suddenly, her eyes widened and she broke into a grin. "Oh my gosh, you're serious!" she squealed. "Come over her, I can do it right now."

Blanca touched my shoulder. "You don't have to do this, you know." She sounded worried.

"No, it's okay. I want to."

Inky grabbed my arm, holding it straight. "Is there anything you want?"

"No, you're the artist. You decide."

She smiled. "Close your eyes. I don't think this will hurt too much, but it could, and—"

"Do it _now_," I cut her off, "before I chicken out."

"Oh, right." She gave a nervous giggle. "Sorry."

I squeezed my eyes shut.

At first, it wasn't too bad, just a slight tingling in my arm. Then the pain really started.

It felt like someone was drawing lines in my skin with acid. I could feel lines being carved, and I had to bite my lip to keep from screaming. The agony continued for what seemed like hours but was nowhere near that long.

Suddenly, I felt someone shake me, and I looked up. Inky was staring at me, her blue eyes wide with worry. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I said, breathing hard. "I'm fine."

She smiled. "Look," she said.

There, on my wrists, flames leapt and danced, a bracelet of fire. The golden, orange and red spirals wove into shapes: girls dancing, stags, birds, lions, even faces that disappeared almost as soon as they showed themselves. It was beautiful.

"You were right. You are an artist," I breathed, and she blushed.

We spent the next few hours laughing, talking and cracking bad jokes. Blades came to join us after a while, and he wasn't so bad once you got to know him.

I almost forgot about the Justice League, the Flash, my powers, _everything_.

Almost.

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**Okay, so I'm putting out a challenge: to anyone who reads this, I challenge you to review. I've been getting more, but still not a TON, and I basically live on reviews the way some people live on oxygen.**

**And while I'm at it, making stupid challenges and all, I also challenge you to say "pickles" somewhere in your review. It's stupid and pointless, I know, but it will be fun to see how many people actually read this little bold-print-info-box thingy.**

**Once again, I hoped you like it.**

**Until next time, adieu!**


	9. An UnSuccessful Heist

**Wow...so many people accepted my challenge. I wish I could give out prizes. Unfortunately, that's impossible, so I did the next best thing and got another chapter up. Not as good as prizes, I know, but hey...that's the way it goes.**

**Anyway, you guys asked for it, so here it is: the Justice League is finally gonna catch up with her. Will it happen the way you expected it to? Heck no. But at least it's happening.**

**I hope you like, and...I don't own Young Justice, just my OC.**

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**Two weeks later:**

"It's just a little heist," Blanca insisted as we stood outside in the posh downtown area of Central, staring up at a massive skyscraper.

I was wearing my fireproof clothes, but other than that, both of us looked completely unrecognizable.

Blanca had gone all-out on the spray tan, and morphed from a pale, washed-out girl to a tan surfer chick. She wore a wig of curly, honey-blonde hair and brown contacts.

I, on the other hand, sported a straight, chocolate-brown wig. I hadn't let Blanca attack me with her can of spray-tan, but she had put some makeup on me and given me another pair of dark brown contacts. Except for the clothes, I could be an average teenager.

_Hah! I wish._

I laughed nervously. "There's no such thing as a "little heist", Blanca," I said, just the slightest bit terrified.

After two weeks of living with her, I'd learned that not only did Blanca excel at picking pockets, she also took up odd jobs from the city's resident supervillains. She hadn't told me who this job had come from, only that it paid a lot and she'd give me half if I helped her. I'd jumped at the chance to make some cash, but now, staring up at the hundred-story skyscraper, I wasn't so sure about this.

"Oh, come on, you'll be fine. Echo's been helping you with your powers, right?"

Echo had, indeed. My flames were still rough, uncontrolled, and did whatever the heck pleased them, but a little less so. Echo didn't really know much about flames, but he'd done his best and, among other things, taught me a skill that was probably gonna come in handy today: how to make a tiny, extremely hot flame, a.k.a. a blowtorch. I still wasn't very good at it, though, and whenever we practiced, Echo made sure that Sage was close at hand, just in case.

I tugged at the sleeve of my sweatshirt, nervously pulling it down over my flame tattoo. The flames were roiling and dancing to match my nervousness, and I didn't need anyone seeing that.

"Yeah, but…" I bit my lip.

"Look, I've already cased the joint and everything. I just need you to blow through a couple locks and you're done."

"Can't you just evaporate through them?" I asked, desperately searching for a way to get out of this.

"_No_. I've already explained to you, some of the doors are coated with lead. Do you know how dense that is?" She shuddered. "I can't phase through that."

"I don't know…"

"_Please, Lissie_!"

I sighed. "Fine. But we're just in-and-out, got it? No delays."

She squealed in delight, throwing her arms around me and causing some passerby to give us weird looks. "Of course!"

She grabbed my wrist, and suddenly, we _evaporated_.

It was terrifying, to say the least. All the little bits and pieces of me were still there, but they were disconnected, flying in a cloud. It was such a weird feeling: I could tell where every little bit of me was, and I was forced to unconsciously keep track of them all. My stomach, or the pieces of it, churned: I was terrified that I'd lose some of my atoms, and when I reformed, I'd do it without a toe or an arm, or even worse: without a brain or lung or heart.

We whizzed through space, and for a second, my mind went dark. I felt a terrible pressure, squeezing my lungs and crushing me in a way that made me sure I'd never breathe again.

Then we were through the wall, and whooshes of color swirled past as we moved through a set of office buildings, through a crack in the elevator door and up the dark elevator shaft. There were plenty of people, and it was funny to think that the most they felt of us was a small gust of wind.

Finally, we must have reached our destination, because all the atoms in my body began to crash in on each other, heading unconsciously to their destinations. They created a tremendous force, and as I reformed, I fell onto my knees, my hands burying into the plush, wine-colored carpet. My stomach turned and my head spun, and I clapped a hand over my mouth to keep myself from hurling all over the nice, clean carpet.

Blanca had already re-formed, and was now standing above me, cackling at my current predicament.

"Hey!" I protested weakly. "If you were in my situation, you'd be on your knees, too."

She laughed again, but offered her hand to help me up. I didn't take it.

Pulling myself to my feet, I ripped off my wig and shook my red hair loose, watching as Blanca did the same. Together, we tossed the wigs down the elevator shaft behind us, then set about examining our surroundings.

We were in one of the top floors, either posh apartments or offices lining the halls. My feet sunk into thick, wine-red carpet, and electric lamps cast soft glows over the hallway. Dark wooden doors carved with twisting vines and cherubs lined the hallway. In contrast, the walls were a sterile, plain white, and blindingly clean.

Blanca grabbed my arm. "This way," she whispered.

As she dragged me through an endless spiral of hallways, I kept my eyes on the security cameras. Was it just me, or was every single one pointing straight at us?

"Are you sure Blades disabled the security system?" I whispered.

"Definitely. I trust him," Blanca declared, then, "This is it."

Next to the fancy doors, this one looked positively austere. It was a plain, concrete door with a plain, old-fashioned lock—no passcode or anything. (If there was, Blades could have just hacked it and I wouldn't be in this mess.)

"Your turn," Blanca whispered.

I knelt down, touching my index finger to the lock and squeezing my eyes tightly shut. I slowed my breathing down, trying to calm myself.

I was aware of everything: the cool steel under my finger, the smooth feel as my tattoo danced across my wrist, the noise Blanca makes when she chews on the ends of her hair, like she was doing then.

I concentrated, shutting it all out, until all that was left in my world was, well…me. I focused on my flames, which were dancing all along my body, my arms and legs. They didn't like being cooped up, I knew. They wanted to break loose. But I wasn't going to let them.

I focused harder, pulling them all into a ball in the pit of my stomach, feeling the warm heat they brought. Somewhere, far off in the distance, Blanca gasped, but I didn't let that distract me.

Slowly, carefully, I guided a little tendril off of the ball, forcing it along my arm. This was the tricky part; so often I'd lost control and sent the flame sparking at the nearest object. But I knew I couldn't do that now.

I guided the flame up to the tip of my finger, felt a familiar tingling there. In the pit of my stomach, the rest of the flames roiled angrily; they don't like being forced around like that. Well, I'll let them free soon enough.

Cautiously, I opened one eye. There, on the tip of my finger, a little flame was glowing white-hot. The lock had already started to melt, little drips of molten metal streaking down the concrete. Soon, it was gone altogether, and the door swung open silently.

"You did it!" Blanca cheered quietly, doing a silent victory dance. I smiled. I wanted to jump up and down and squeal like a little girl, but I knew couldn't. Not right then.

Slowly, I crept inside. The carpet was still plush and soft, but it morphed from the wine-red to an emerald green. Floor-length curtains made of blue, gold, and green silk framed windows that reveal spectacular views of Central. There was some office furniture, too, ornately carved and made out of leather and some kind of wood that looked expensive. Framed pictures hung on the wall, dull landscapes of the North Pole painted by artists that were probably famous for that sort of thing. The whole office radiated power and utter arrogance.

In the dead center of the office, a marble pedestal had been erected. It was covered by a glass case, and inside, swathed in ocean-blue silk sat…

A single microchip.

"That's _it_?" I cried. "That's the priceless—mrph!" Blanca clapped her hand over my mouth.

"_Yes_. Now, try to be quieter."

Slowly, she uncovered my mouth, then dug in her bag and produced a little silver spray bottle. Kneeling near the pedestal, she held up the bottle, then gave a few quick spritzes.

The mist hung in the air for a moment, catching several red laser beams. They shimmered, and Blanca winced.

"An alarm," she whispered. _Thank you, Captain Obvious_.

Of course, we _could_ have done the epic thing and performed a series of acrobatic flips, spins, and whatnot, thereby bypassing the lasers. But Blanca was never the athletic sort, so instead, she dug deeper in her bag, producing a series of tiny mirrors.

Carefully, she slid the mirrors into position. They reflected the beams, creating a pathway for us to walk through. It wasn't epic in the slightest—but it was ten times cleverer than your average thief.

I shook my head. "Blanca, I knew you were good, but I didn't know you were _this_ good," I said. She just smiled and crept, cat-like, through the path she'd created.

The flames in my stomach churned unpleasantly. I knew they wanted to be let loose, but I couldn't risk a fire just then. So I shoved them back down, praying that they'd listen to me, just this once.

Blanca silently slipped the crystal cover off of the case, setting it on the ground. In one swift movement, she grabbed the microchip off of the pedestal and slipped it into her bag.

Suddenly, an alarm started blaring. It was loud and harsh and I slapped my hands over my ears to block it out.

Blanca let loose a string of cuss words. "The microchip must have triggered an alarm," she hissed.

"How long will it take Blades to turn it off?" I asked, on the verge of panic.

"Too long." She grabbed my wrist and gave a little cry of pain. "Lissie, you're burning up," she whispered.

I knew it was the flames. It was like they were taking revenge on me for attempting to control them. I could feel them surging inside me and knew that soon, all hell would break loose.

The flames surged again and I fell to my knees. I fought to hold them back, the effort creating a dull, throbbing pain in my skull.

"Blanca, listen to me," I whispered desperately. "You've got to get out of here. Close the door to this office and find some way to lock it. Don't let anyone inside. Get as many people out of the building as you can."

"What about you?" she whispered, her eyes wide with fear.

"I'll be—fine," I hissed. I'm sure that just then, doubled over and clutching my stomach, I didn't look fine. But she _had_ to believe me.

Blanca gave a tiny little nod, and I smiled weakly. Then she turned, sprinted out of the room, and slammed the door behind her.

I turned my attention back to the flames. They'd spread to my arms, and I fought to keep them inside me, to bring them back to my stomach. Some complied, but most put up a struggle. I squeezed my eyes shut and just _focused_.

At least there was no one in the room with me. At least people would have time to get out before…

"What are you doing in here, girl?"

Oh…crap. I glanced up. There, at the doorway, was a security guard in a blue uniform, holding what looked like a Taser in his hands. He was young, athletic, blond and handsome, with a little goatee and sparkling blue eyes. And if I couldn't control my flames, I'd end up killing him.

"You're not supposed to be in here."

"Please…leave," I hissed.

"What…no!" He took a step forward. "I can't just…"

"Get away from me! Don't come closer!" I screamed. Each word took a tremendous amount of effort, but somehow I managed them.

"Look, kid, I don't know who you are or…" He stopped, stepped forward, so close that I could have reached out and touched him if I'd wanted. "Hey, are you okay?"

The flames churned, and I knew they were going to burst out of me at any moment. Still, I managed one final word before they did.

I looked up into his blue eyes. "Run," I whispered.

Then all hell broke loose.

A massive fireball erupted from my skin, every pore turned into a flamethrower. It incinerated everything within a ten-foot radius—including the security guard. The force of the flames knocked me back, and I landed stupidly on my butt.

Every cloth or wood surface in the office erupted into flames, and soon the room was filled with a choking smoke that didn't hurt me in the slightest. Over on the wall, the polar ice caps were burning, turning the oil paint into an ugly shade of brown.

Flames streamed from my arms, dancing in a way that suggested they were laughing at me.

"_You thought you could control us?" _they seemed to hiss. "_Ha! Stupid girl. You'll never control us. You'll never be normal. You'll always be dangerous."_

I took one glance at the remains of the security guard. All that was left was a charred, twisted skeleton, barely recognizable as human. My stomach turned at the sight, and I vomited, spilling the contents of my stomach all over the flaming curtains.

_Oh God,_ I thought. _Oh God, I've killed him. I'm a murderer. I'm a MURDERER!_

I buried my head into my arms, trying desperately to quiet my thoughts, but they came anyway.

_Killer…murderer…I killed him…_

Guilt washed over me in waves, and tears welled in my eyes, only to evaporate into little puffs of steam as soon as they touched my cheeks.

_How could I…Why couldn't he have just left, like I told him? Now he's dead. And…oh, God, he's so young…What about his family? His wife and kids? His parents? _

Never before had I wished that my flames could hurt me, but you bet I did then. I longed to just burn up and get rid of this guilt, this pain.

Suddenly, a voice whispered somewhere in the flames. "_Lissie…" _it called. "_Lissie…I'm here, Lissie."_

I looked up. The flames were swirling in patterns that somewhat resembled a human form…

Flames formed into tendrils of red, curly hair…pale skin…high cheekbones…the figure was tall and willowy, and beautiful—and so, so familiar. It was my mother.

Okay, so I know now that the guilt, stress, and heat combined to create some pretty serious hallucinations. My flames may have been little pains-in-the-butt, but they couldn't form into _people_ unless I told them to, and believe you me, I hadn't. Still…right then, it seemed like my mother was right in front of me, as real as ever.

"Momma?" I whispered. Her full lips split into a smile and she reached out, enveloping me in a flaming hug. She didn't say anything, and yet, as her ghostly lips brushed my forehead, I could almost hear words.

"_Be strong, baby…make me proud."_ I smiled, suddenly willing to stay here forever, if it meant being with Momma. But she released me from her ghostly hug and turned to go.

"Momma, _please_ wait!" I called desperately. She turned, gave a sad little smile and a tiny shake of her head, the universal sign for "no". Then she turned and walked away into the flames.

"Momma, please!" I screamed into the flames, tears streaking partway down my cheeks until they evaporated into smoke. "_Please don't leave me!"_

But it was too late. She was gone.

The hallucinations continued after that. I saw tigers, puppies…even (once) a rabbit playing the saxophone, which makes for a weird picture. But Momma never returned. I think, somewhere deep inside of me, I honestly thought that she'd seen what I'd done, seen the damage I caused, and been too ashamed to stay. The logical part of me never kicked into gear or realized that she'd been a guilt-induced hallucination and hadn't been thinking _anything_. All I was aware of was that I'd killed a person, and probably loads more in the fire. It didn't matter if I could control my powers or not; those deaths were all _my _fault.

And then, suddenly, the monotony of the flames was broken. Voices echoed in the hall, sounding loud and desperate, yet not so clear that I could make out individual words.

Then there was a voice that was very, very close to me—right next to me, in fact. I realized that I was on the floor, curled up in a little ball with my eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"I found her," the voice said, just as I opened my eyes. Right in front of my head was a leg, clothed in a yellow Spandex costume that I knew far too well. The last time I'd seen its owner, I'd been sailing over him in a back alleyway.

I tried to push myself up into a sitting position, maybe fire off some sarcastic remarks. But after producing all those flames, my energy level was zero, and my arms weren't even strong enough to support my weight.

My view began to fade out, but I still managed to say something before I passed out.

"Long time, no see, Kid Flash," I mumbled.

Then everything faded to black.

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**Wow...that was a really intense chapter. But good, I hope. Once again, I live for your reviews, so PLEASE TELL ME SOMETHING. Anything. Please!**

**And, while I think of it, let me explain something about the security guard's death. Or actually, a couple of somethings.**

**1.) I hate it in stories when the main character controls fire, but never actually kills anyone with it. I mean, _come on._ Fire is dangerous-it's a killer. I felt that that needed to be made clear.**

**2.) His death is actually going to be what snaps Lissie to attention and makes her realize that yes, she _does_ need help controlling her powers, and the members of the Justice League are really the only ones who can help her.**

**3.) The guilt she feels is going to be a driving force that leads her to become a hero, to try and "make up for" his death, as much as she can.**

**4.) It'll probably happen, but I didn't want to kill off a main OC right away. So I used a side character instead.**

**And I hope you liked it. :)**


	10. Coercion

**Hey guys! Sorry that it took a while to post this; my week has been HECTIC. And I'm talking _insane_-my school had field day yesterday, and I yelled so hard that I still can't talk.**

**Anyway, as a result, this chappie is a lot shorter-I'm sorry! I'll try to make the next one long.**

**Hope you like it!**

* * *

The room I woke up in looked surprisingly unlike a jail cell.

It wasn't five-star accommodations, don't get me wrong, but there weren't bars on the door or a little cot or a hole in the corner for a toilet. There _were_ security cameras, but then, I had kinda seen _those_ coming.

I was in a soft bed under spotless white sheets. It was small, but _so_ comfortable, especially after two weeks of sleeping on the concrete floor of a warehouse.

I sat up, and tried to bring my hand around to rub the back of my head, but it wouldn't move. I looked down. My hands were in a pair of high-tech handcuffs—some weird metal thing that would probably be pretty hard to melt through.

Suddenly, the single, metal door imbedded in the wall slid soundlessly open. I looked up.

There, framed in the doorway, was a famous figure: long, blonde hair, fishnet tights, a black bodysuit and dark blue jacket combined in a way that made me instantly recognize the figure.

It was Black Canary.

She didn't look unfriendly, but she didn't smile either, just came soundlessly over to my bed, and pushed a couple of buttons on the handcuffs that made them snap open. I rubbed my wrists in relief: it felt really, really good to have those buggers off.

She stood up. "Batman wants to see you," she said simply, and then turned and began to walk away, not waiting for me to follow.

I leapt up and ran after her, which is not an easy thing to do when your hands are handcuffed together. She had a long stride, and I had to jog to keep up.

She led me through a tangle of hallways in a nameless building. It could have been the Justice League HQ in DC, but there was a surprising lack of tourists that led me to think that we were somewhere else, in some secret hideout somewhere.

I would never have been able to find my way around on my own, which meant the option of escape was out. Guess I would finally get that little chat with the Batman, after all.

Both of us were completely silent, making the walk incredibly awkward (at least for me). I couldn't tell if Canary was angry at me or just didn't want to talk. Maybe I didn't want to know.

Finally, we emerged in a main room. It was filled with members of the Young Justice team, sparring and working out and generally doing superhero-like stuff. None of them paid me the least bit of attention.

In the center of the room stood a man who was more of a wall then a person. He was clad entirely in gray and black, and even though he was facing away from me, it was easy to tell that he was not pleased.

"Elizabeth Reynolds," he said. He hadn't even seen me, and the room was filled with noise—how had he known I was there?

He turned. "You've caused quite a bit of trouble, young lady. Arson, murder—you've got a rap sheet taller than you."

I shrugged. "I'm not very tall, so that's not saying much," I said simply. I winced as soon as I said it: talking back to the Batman was a very, very bad idea. And yet, I wished I would have screamed at him, like I'd wanted to.

He gave a little chuckle. "Fair enough. But you're a killer. If there was any justice in this world, you'd be in jail right now."

I gritted my teeth. _Killer. Murderer._ That was twice now that he'd made a reference to the fire, and I was starting to get angry. What was he playing at?

"However, even though you did destroy innocent lives, the Justice League recognizes that you were not, perhaps, in full control of your powers at the time. So we offer you a choice. You can take a one-way ticket to Bel Rev, where you spend the rest of your life in jail for your crimes. Or you can join our Young Justice team, where you will train as a hero and learn to use your powers to benefit the world. It's your choice."

I was shocked. The Young Justice League? I didn't want to be a hero. There was too much danger in that kind of life. Too much Spandex. And actually, Bel Rev wasn't so bad an idea: at least I wouldn't have to hurt anyone anymore.

Mistaking my silence for indecision, Batman continued. "Let me remind you that you will be considered a murderer by the law. You killed people, and…"

I didn't listen to the rest. Instead, I just ground my teeth. This guy was getting on my nerves. What was his _problem_? Why did he see the need to remind me of the fire and the lives I'd destroyed?

His words echoed through my head. _Killer_. _Murderer._ _Destroyer of innocent lives_…

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. "_Shut up!_" I screamed. "_Just SHUT UP!"_

A deathly silence fell over the room. Every head swiveled to look straight at me, the girl who had dared to tell the Batman to shut up. Even the Batman took a step back in shock. Apparently, he wasn't used to being spoken to like that.

Well, it was too late to stop screaming now, so instead, I used it to my advantage. "Fine! I'll join your stupid little pep squad! But not for me, and definitely not for you. For _them_." I spat out the _them_—I was pretty sure Batman knew who I was referencing.

Then I turned on my heel and stomped out of there, back the way I had come. I didn't really know where I was going, but I wanted to make a big show of it.

Just when I was almost at the door, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned.

The Boy Wonder was standing there, looking completely unamused by my little tirade. I expected him to start chewing me out, but instead, he just pointed to the left, the opposite direction of where I was going.

"Your room's the other way," he said slowly, as if talking to a three-year-old.

I shook off the hand and stomped off in the direction he had pointed, into a hallway lined with doors. Stupid Robin. I didn't need him to show me my room. I didn't need any of these people.

I sighed. _Who am I kidding_? I thought to myself. _I am a murderer._

I find a plain wooden door marked "Elizabeth Reynolds". I sighed: obviously I was more predictable then I'd thought.

Inside the room was a plain bed with white sheets, a little chest of drawers, a full-length mirror, and a white wooden desk. The carpet was blue and felt soft under my feet. On the desk sat my familiar green pack and cardboard memory box, and I breathed a sigh of relief: at least I had my stuff here.

I collapsed onto the bed, finally feeling the weight of guilt crash down on my chest. Tears leaked out of my eyes and I buried my head in the pillows to cry.

Hugging a pillow to my chest, I curled up on the bed and sobbed for who-knows-how-long, maybe a couple of hours. I felt trapped inside the Justice League, with no way to go to the outside world and no freedom. And let a little part of me knew that I deserved it.

Finally, the door creaked open and Black Canary walked through. She was holding a blue plastic dinner tray that held something steaming. It smelled fantastic.

"I brought you dinner," she said simply as she set the tray on the edge of my bed. Sniffing, I sit up and snatch the tray. On it is a set of dishes holding fried chicken; hot, buttery corn on the cob; a gooey slab of chocolate cake; and a tall, cool glass of milk. I dug into the food, ravenous—it'd been a very long time since I last ate.

Canary just sat on the edge of my bed, watching me. I felt a little self-conscious, but I didn't let that stop my feast. It was fantastic: I hadn't had that kind of home-cooked food in a good two or three weeks, and I'd forgotten how good it was.

When I was done, Canary took the tray away from me and turned to go.

I wasn't ready for her to leave just then, though. I had questions that needed to be answered.

"Canary, how many people died? You know, in the…the fire."

She stopped, but didn't turn around. "Four," she said simply.

My breath caught in my throat. _Four._ So much better than I'd dared to hope, and yet…that was four lives wasted, four families thrust into mourning, countless children that would never hug their mother or father, countless parents or siblings or friends that would never be able to see their loved one again.

I guess I must have whimpered or something, because in a split second, Canary was there, her arms wrapped around me, he hands rubbing my back.

"It's gonna be okay," she whispered.

I shook my head. "No, it's not. I _killed_ them, Canary."

She smiled. "Be glad that you feel guilty," she whispered. "It means you have a conscience, something some people aren't given. Their lives will not be wasted, Elizabeth. They'll help you become a hero and save countless people."

I was silent for a while. Canary's words were strangely comforting, and I smiled. "Canary, is Batman mad at me?"

She laughed. "No, I don't think so. I think he's impressed. To yell at him like that, you have to be either extremely stupid or extremely brave, and you didn't strike us as the dumb type. But that doesn't let you off the hook—I'd apologize to him next time you see him, okay?"

I nodded, and she turned to leave, grabbing the tray on her way out.

"Oh, and Elizabeth?"

I nodded. "Yeah?"

"I'd get some sleep if I were you. Training starts at seven am, sharp."

* * *

**Hope you liked it! Oh, and I've got anther challenge for you guys:**

**If you have either a favorite or an alert on my story, I challenge you to review. Because those things are great-I love seeing that you guys like this-but when you're silent, it leaves me a little depressed. Even if you just say two words, I would love it.**


	11. Lissie Kicks Butt

**Hey guys, thank you SO MUCH for all the reviews! I managed to get this one done, too, so I hope you like it!**

**It's still a little short, but...there you go. At least it's up quickly. The next one will be up quick too, I swear.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Young Justice.**

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It turns out that Black Canary's 7 a.m. exercise slot had me up a full two hours before the rest of the team. I guess it made sense, considering that I was easily the most inexperienced member, but that didn't mean I had to like it.

We started out small: just trying to keep my powers under control, trying to keep them from exploding out of me whenever I felt a fit of rage come on, like I often did. It wasn't easy, let me tell you: the training room acquired some brand-new scorch marks on the ceiling, something the Batman was not pleased with.

Canary made it pretty clear that I'd always be battling to keep my powers under control, because that was the nature of fire: it was willful and unpredictable. I'd probably screw up again, but for now, everything was going just fine.

After I learned control, Canary taught me how to use my powers to my advantage: how to create blades, whips, and shields of flame, how to hurl fireballs, even how to (somewhat) control the heat and brightness of the flames.

Canary also devoted a portion of each training session to fighting and athletic techniques: how to throw a proper punch, how to deliver a roundhouse kick, how to take down an opponent twice my size. I was small, so direct attacks usually weren't too useful for me, but I learned how to use my size and my agility to my advantage. Turns out that a small frame is great for acrobatics, and pretty soon I was learning how to execute a backflip or vault off of walls.

By the time the rest of the team filed in around nine, I was exhausted and ready to collapse. They usually started their days with sparring sessions. Canary never let me spar. She only allowed me to sit and watch the fights. Later, she'd quiz me on what I'd observed: she'd make me recite what Kid Flash had done wrong or why Artemis won that fight. Each wrong answer bought me another ten push-ups, and there were some days that we'd stay an hour after the session was officially over just so I could get my pushups in.

We continued like that for two or three months: training for two hours in the morning, watching training for three hours, training for another three hours, then doing pushups until I'd met my quota. The only times I had off were the times Canary was out on duty, and even then she usually sent in someone to help me train.

Still, even that schedule left me with hours of free time that, I must admit, I didn't know what to do with. I wasn't allowed to go on missions, and when the team was at HQ, they avoided me like the plague. I don't blame them. It's hard to be BFFs with the girl who burned down a building and the people inside it.

Teen angst aside, life at Mount Justice wasn't too bad: Batman provided my with pretty much whatever I wanted: computers, books, TV, and music, since apparently the Justice League is filthy rich (who woulda thunk it, right?). I even got a new costume, to replace the one that I'd pretty much destroyed in the fire: a black half-turtleneck shirt with sleeves that reached to my wrists, a black domino mask, black cargo pants, and black ankle boots. The shirt, the mask, and the boots were embroidered with flame designs in brilliant reds, oranges, and golds, and they were sort of metallic, so that when I walked, they shimmered like flames. I got several copies of the outfit and practically wore it 24/7.) But there was one thing I wanted that Batman couldn't give me: I wanted to go outside.

I was stuck, trapped inside the halls of Mount Justice. I could watch TV, read books magazines, and newspapers, and surf the web, so it wasn't like I wasn't up-to-date on the latest politics and celebrity gossip, but really, it wasn't the same as experiencing it for myself. Any time I didn't spend in training I spent bored to tears.

So I began spending less and less time being lazy, and more time exercising. Long after my training sessions ended, I could still be found in the gym, pushing myself to do just one more flip or chin-up. It wasn't easy, and most days I was asleep before I hit the pillows, completely bone-tired. But it was paying off, and my skinny figure was starting to give way to toned muscles.

Finally, during one training session about two months after I joined the team, I sat, rapidly memorizing every detail of a fight between Robin and Superboy. Superboy was a heckuva lot stronger, but Robin was more agile and more experienced, to boot. Right then, neither had the upper hand, but I was putting my money on Robin.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted motion, so I turned. Black Canary was casually walking over to me. Black Canary _never_ casually walked, so I knew something was up.

She leaned against the wall and slid down it until she was sitting next to me, cross-legged. I took a sip from my waterbottle, ready to give her some smart analysis of the fight, but I was not prepared for what she said next.

"You're up next," she whispered.

I was so shocked that I choked on the mouthful of water I was drinking, spewing it all over the floor and my copious notes. Over in the corner, Wally burst out laughing.

"Very smooth, Lissie!"

I glared, wiping the water off of my face. "Shut up, West!" I hollered. He didn't.

Black Canary patted my back awkwardly.

"What did you say?" I managed to choke out.

"I said, you're up…right about now." Sure enough, Robin had somehow pinned Superboy to the floor. I wished I'd placed that bet with Wally, because if I had, I'd be twenty bucks richer.

Black Canary helped me into a standing position, and I wasn't too surprised to find that my legs were shaking. "Are you sure I'm ready for this?" I whispered. They were _trained superheroes_. I was _a civilian girl_, and up until a few months ago, I had practically been allergic to exercise. There was no way I could hope to not be smushed.

She smiled. "You'll do great. Just remember what I taught you, okay?"

I nodded reflexively, immediately wishing I hadn't. Canary took the nod to mean "go ahead and bring on the fight because I've got a death wish" and led me into the center of the sparring arena.

We turned to face the team. "Is there anyone you'd like to fight?" she asked kindly.

"Not really," I whispered to a chorus of laughter from the teens. Except Megan, who just smiled pityingly.

"Okay…Robin, how about you come on up here?" she asked sweetly.

Robin did as he was told, and every alarm bell in my system started shrieking.

_Oh no…hell no…of all the kids on the team, she picked the one who's been kicking ass since he was in diapers. I'm gonna die._

Suddenly, we were standing opposite of each other. Robin smiled. "Don't worry, I'll go easy on you," he whispered. I'm pretty sure he was just trying to be the nice guy, but what he did next sent anger coursing through my system instead of fear.

Because then, Robin smirked.

_Oh, hell to the no_, I thought. _You do _not_ smirk at me, boy. I don't care how much experience you have, you are going _down.

Canary smiled, raising her hands. "Ready…and…go!" she cried, bringing her arms down. She was having way too much fun with this.

We stood facing each other for a while, staring each other down. Then, suddenly, Robin's foot shot out toward my face. I sidestepped it and it whistled just past my nose. Instinctively, I snatched my hand out, grabbing his ankle. Then I _twisted_.

He hissed in pain (which may have just been for my benefit) but managed to do this weird twisty thing with his leg that forced me to let go.

Before I could catch my breath, he sent a flurry of punches at me, and I was forced to shoot my hands up, desperately trying to move quickly enough to block each one. Desperately, I shot my foot at his waist, his left side. It really wasn't a hard kick and it shouldn't have stopped him, but he leaped back and gasped in pain.

My mind was working overtime. _Why…why would he do that? That kick shouldn't have hurt him. Unless…_

Suddenly, the answer came to me, but before I could do anything about it, a fist shot up, seemingly out of nowhere, catching my jaw. Pain flared through my head, and I stumbled backwards. A foot caught me in the center of the chest and I fell, cracking my head on the floor.

"Well…it looks like we have our winner," Black Canary said, sounding disappointed. "Nice work, Robin, and good job to you too, Lissie. You performed very well for your first fight. Now, if anyone…"

"_No_!" I gasped, and Canary stopped mid-sentence. I realized just how crazy and desperate I must have sounded. "I mean…I want a rematch."

There was one of those moments where everyone gasps collectively as I stood up and wiped the blood from my chin. It hurt, but the sight of Robin's smirk kept flashing through my head and I didn't let the pain get to me.

"Lissie, are…are you _sure?"_

"I'm sure," I said. And I was. I knew I could win, because now I knew Robin's weakness. Hours of watching fights trained me to pick out the little things like that, and I had during the fight: Robin was favoring his right side. During a mission four days ago, he'd taken a knife wound to the chest. It was pretty nasty; he got stitches and everything. Even though he claimed that it was fine, it was pretty obvious that the little bugger still hurt like the devil. I'd spotted it in the last fight but it had been too late to use it to my advantage, but now…

Robin was going down.

Black Canary just shrugged, let us face each other down again. This time it was my turn to smirk.

I threw the first punch, too: a wicked right hook to his wound. He practically doubled over in pain, and I almost felt bad. Key word: _almost_.

It didn't take him long to recover, and he aimed a roundhouse kick at my head. I rolled easily into a backflip that Canary had taught me only days ago, and the kick went high. Then, I tucked myself into a crouch position and stuck out my left leg, pivoting on my right. It swept Robin's feet out from under him, and he fell backwards, landing on the floor with a _thud_. On his left side, no less.

He groaned out loud andI grinned, standing over him, feeling oh-so self-satisfied. A clamor of cheering came from the team, and I grinned.

"It looks like Lissie's the winner of this match," Black Canary announced. She sounded shocked. I didn't mind.

Robin picked himself up, still rubbing his side. "Not bad," he said, sticking out his hand to shake.

I grinned and took it, but when I looked into Robin's eyes, I didn't see friendliness. I saw anger. He knew how I'd exploited his weakness, and he wasn't happy about it.

Suddenly, the glowing zeta-tubes on one end of the room seemed to grow brighter, and that weird machine-lady voice announced, "Batman: O2."

Batman emerged from the zeta-tube, and he was barely out before he said, "I've got a mission for you, team." I sighed, already envisioning the hours of boredom I would spend alone, with nothing to do.

"Okay, then…Imma just go, kay?" I asked, pointing over my shoulder and trying not to sound disappointed.

"You, too, Lissie," Batman announced, and I stopped dead.

"What…_me?_ A-are you sure?" _Are you insane?_

"Yes, you. Now, about the mission…"

I wanted to do a victory dance—I finally got to go on a mission! Outside, no less! Score one for Lissie!

But I knew I'd better tune back in to what Batman was saying. "…a group of metahumans have been stealing artifacts from museums all over the world. We've done our research and it looks like they'll strike next at…" He tapped a couple buttons on the computer monitors that were conveniently placed around the room, "…the National Museum of Natural History."

Sure enough, an image of the imposing, columned building in the Smithsonian popped up on the screen.

"Why would anyone want to break into _that_? To steal dinosaur fossils?" I asked.

"The museum has an extensive gem collection," Robin said in a bored tone, rolling his eyes and making me feel incredibly stupid. "I'm guessing that's what the thieves are after."

"Correct," Batman said with a hint of pride. "And you are going to stop them."

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**So, did ya like it? My other challenge still stands, so if you liked this story, even a little bit, please let me know! Reviews make me work faster!**

**Oh, and I got a comment saying that my title is perhaps...you know. Boring. And my reply to that is: "You read my frickin' MIND! How did you know?" The truth is, I DETEST this title. I would love to change it, but I have no idea what to use. If anyone has ANY ideas that they wouldn't mind me borrowing, I would ADORE it if you told my them. Thanks!**

**Peace out!**


	12. Ghosts of the Past

**Wow...thanks for the reviews, guys! Some of your title suggestions were a-FREAKIN'-mazing, and I really appreciate it...haven't quite decided on a new, official title yet, but thanks! Oh, and some people guessed that the theives would be Lissie's old gang. Well, just wait and see!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Young Justice OR the Smithsonian OR Easy-Bake ovens, just my OC.**

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I sat in the furthest corner of the Bio-ship, my eyes squeezed shut tight against the view. My hands clutched the arm rests in a death-grip and sweat beaded up on my forehead. Have I mentioned that I'm afraid of heights?

The team was starting to give me weird looks, though. I was pretty sure Miss Martian wasn't paying attention to me, 'cause she was busy piloting the ship, but Aqualad and Superboy had cut off an intense conversation about some martial arts move or another, and I could feel their stares on the back of my neck.

"Hey, Lissie…you okay?" I opened one eye cautiously, trying not to look out the windows at the dark world below. Kid Flash was looking at me quizzically, as if he didn't understand why someone would have a panic attack in a tiny moving ship thousands of feet above the ground.

"Yeah, I'm fine, it's just…" I started to lie.

"She's afraid of heights," Artemis cut in, and I shot her a glare. She ignored it.

"Afraid of heights? But on the monkeybars that time…I thought—"

"KF, that's not really a regular thing for me, okay? I was desperate."

"Oh."

"Sooo, you excited for your first mission?" Artemis cut in, trying to draw the conversation away from my fear of heights.

"Um…not really?"

She gave a laugh. "Why? Kicking bad guy butt is _fun_!"

I nervously played with the edge of my new domino mask. "Yeah, I guess, it's just…what if I screw it up?"

She smiled kindly, putting a reassuring hand on my knee. "You don't need to worry. I screwed up _big time_ on my first mission, and it's not really that big of a deal. Besides, everyone's nervous on their first mission. Just ask Kid Flash about _his_ first time."

"Really?" I asked, my eyes wide. "What was it like?"

Wally laughed uncomfortably, running his hand through his orange hair. "It's not a big deal, really…Don't worry, though, you'll be great."

I noticed that Wally hadn't really answered my question, and Artemis must have too, because she reached over and gave him a little slap on the knee.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"It was for you being such a…"

I rolled my eyes, turning away from their conversation. I glanced over at Robin, who still seemed pretty steamed. He was bent over a monitor, staring at it so intently that it was like the meaning of life was written on it.

"You know, it hasn't started talking to you yet," I commented, and he glanced up, annoyed.

"_Excuse me?"_

"The _monitor._ It hasn't started talking yet. What's so interesting, anyway?"

Hastily, he covered the screen with his arm, and shot me a death-glare. "It's nothing you need to worry about…just mind your own business, okay?"

I rolled my eyes, looking away. "Fine. Whatever." What was his problem?

I turned to Zatanna, who was sitting behind me. "Why is he so...you know?" I asked, nervously messing with my hair, making it even frizzier.

She smiled sadly and played with the ends of her shiny, raven-black hair, looking as though she didn't want to tell me. "Well…Robin had some friends in that fire you caused," she began.

My eyes widened. "Oh my gosh…did I…I didn't know," I began, desperately trying to apologize, even though she probably wasn't the one I should be apologizing to.

"No…they're fine. You don't need to worry about that," she said hurriedly, and I breathed a sigh of relief. "It's just…after seeing what you did, Robin finds it a lot harder to trust you." She shrugged. "Just give him some time, okay? I'm sure he'll come around."

I gave her a grateful smile and turned back around. Robin was still over in the corner, still staring intently at the monitor. He didn't _look_ like he'd come around. But maybe Zatanna was right. Maybe all he needed was a little time.

_Yeah, and maybe world hunger could be solved with an Easy-Bake oven and a whole lotta willpower, _I thought sarcastically.

"We're here!" Megan chirped excitedly. Sure enough, I could feel the Bio-ship begin its slow descent into the heart of Washington, D.C. A fresh wave of fear coursed through me, and I resumed my death-grip on the armrests of my chair.

I chanced one glance out the windows. The lights of D.C. sparkled below us, lit up in the blackness like a fairy city. I could see the glows of lights that illuminated the monuments all around the city, and moonlight reflected of the waters of the Potomac. It would have been beautiful if we weren't hanging three hundred feet above it and rapidly losing altitude.

My stomach turned at the sight of the amazing height, and I hurriedly looked away from the view, squeezing my eyes tightly shut once again. I knew that Megan wouldn't be allowing her ship to crash anytime soon, and yet I was still terrified, with only one thought pounding through my head:

_We're gonna die we're gonna die we're gonna die…_

"It's okay, Lissie," Aqualad called from the corner of the plane. "There's nothing to worry about." His voice was the kind that could calm down serial killers, but somehow it wasn't helping.

There was a rush of sound and then a tiny bump as the ship touched down, light as a feather, right in the center of the National Mall. I opened one eye.

Sure enough, trees, streetlamps, and buildings could be seen, all at ground level. I wanted to rush out and kiss the ground. Instead, I settled for a little celebration inside my head.

_I'm alive! _I screamed in my head. _Thank my lucky stars, I'm alive!_

Unfortunately for me, I didn't realize that Miss Martian had just set up the telepathic link, so my little hysteria-fest had been broadcast, loud and clear, to the entire Young Justice team.

"Um…yes, Lissie. Glad to see you're as observant as ever," Robin said, smirking. A hot pink blush crept over my face and I turned away.

"Sorry, I just…sorry," I mumbled, looking away.

Kid Flash put a hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry about it," he whispered. "I'm glad to be alive, too."

We stepped out onto the plush green grass of the Mall. The area was totally empty, and I'm talking frickin' _deserted _here. The place was like a ghost town.

It was ringed in leafy green trees, and streetlamps were evenly spaced around the area, fighting off the darkness. At the far end, the Washington Monument was glowing, illuminated by countless lights. That seemed friendly enough, but here, in the _dark_…well, let's just say that I stuck _veeery_ close to the rest of my team.

The National Museum of Natural History was every bit as imposing as its pictures made it out to be. With a golden dome, huge marble columns, and a set of steps rivaling those on the Aztec pyramids, it screamed _important_. An importance that didn't hold a torch to some of the stuff inside.

"Okay, Lissie, Megan, you guard the perimeter. Artemis, you and Zatanna take the roof. The rest of us…" Aqualad began to give out assignments. Megan smiled at me, all friendly-like.

"Okay, Lissie," she said. "Do you want the main entrance or the street entrance?"

"Um…main," I said uncertainly. Criminals never take the front door, right?

She nodded. "Okay. Guarding is really easy. Just don't leave your post, and whatever you do, don't let _anyone _in." She gave me a look. "Even me. No one goes in or out of that door, got it?"

I nodded. "Got it."

I took up my place on the front steps. The others all passed me: Zatanna and Artemis both smiled, wishing me good luck. Kid Flash and Aqualad did the same. Even Connor, the King of Stoic-ness, managed a friendly nod and a smile. Robin shot me a grin that could have been a good luck smile or one of those smirks you give to people you hate when you know that something bad is about to happen to them. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and go with the former.

I sighed, sinking down to sit on the marble steps, watching the rest of my team disperse. It was going to be a long night.

And I was going to have to get used to this whole "telepathic link" thing. There were plenty of thoughts I had that I didn't want to be shared with the entire world. I could already hear Kid Flash thinking…well, awkward things.

_No one wants to hear that_, I shot at him, and the thoughts cut out, followed by sort of…a sense of laughter from the rest of the team, if that makes sense.

I sighed, bored. The cold of the night air was biting my skin, even through my high-tech ultra-warm costume. I thought about lighting a fire, but I didn't want the thieves seeing it.

For a while, I played with my new costume, watching the glistening flames that were etched on the shirt reflect light off the marble steps. It was pretty, but got old quickly.

I was starting to think that I'd been stupid for choosing the door no one would come in. I would've liked to see some action, just a little.

Suddenly, I could hear Miss Martian gasp in pain over the link.

_Megan! Are you okay? _I thought.

_Yeah…I'm fine. Just caught one of our thieves is all._

I gasped aloud. _Do you need help?_

_No! Stay there,_ she responded. _I'm pretty sure there's more where he came from_.

I nodded, even though she couldn't see.

Suddenly, there was a rustling among the plants across the sidewalk. I tensed, jumping to my feet.

_Miss Martian, someone's here_, I thought.

Her response was immediate. _Do you need backup?_

_I…_Part of me wanted to scream "yes, help me!" But the other, less rational part screamed that I was a hero now, and I was supposed to deal with this kind of thing on my own.

_I'm fine_ _for now_, I said.

_Okay. I'll be on alert, just in case,_ she responded.

I balled my hands into fists. Yes, I could definitely see the outline of a human figure, there in the darkness.

_Maybe it's just a tourist…who got lost. Really lost,_ I thought hopefully.

_Yeah, and maybe Hitler was really a nice guy, once you got to know him,_ I thought sarcastically at myself. _Who am I trying to kid?_

I gulped. The figure, noticing me, had stopped moving, and was almost blending in to the shadows.

"I know you're there," I called, my voice shaking. "Come out into the light."

There was a laugh, feminine and musical, the kind of laugh that most women would kill for.

"Come OUT!" I screamed, angry at the person for laughing at me. Well, anger was good. Anger fueled flames.

Obediently, the woman slipped into the orange pool of light cast by the streetlamp, and I gasped.

The figure was, indeed, a woman, clad in a black jumpsuit that perfectly framed her curves. She was flawless, with milky-white skin and high cheekbones. Her eyes were a beautiful, sparkling hazel, her lips were plush and pink, and she had not a single wrinkle, even though she must have been in her thirties or forties. But what really gave her away was her perfect, shiny red hair, falling down past her shoulders and curling around her face in perfect, buttery soft curls.

She smiled beautifully and extended her arms towards me. "Lissie," she whispered.

I shook my head, but my feet automatically began to walk forward.

"_Momma?_" I whispered.

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**Betcha didn't see THAT one coming! Yes, I WILL use the old gang, just later on...but I hope you like this anyway!**

**So...is it her mom? Isn't it? What do you think?  
**

**If you liked that twist/cliffie/insane fear of heights, lemme know with a review! Don't worry, the review button won't bite!**


	13. One Little Word

**Wow...it took a while, but I promised a long one and here it is. I hope you guys enjoy it!**

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Momma enveloped me in her arms, pressing her soft, cool lips to my forehead, just the way she used to do. I breathed in deeply, inhaling the heavy scent of her favorite lavender perfume. Her soft locks of hair tickled the tip of my nose.

She was so _real_. So…_here_. It was like all my wildest, happiest fantasies had been wrapped up in a bundle and plopped down there, right in front of me. I could barely believe it.

Of course, somewhere in the deepest corner of my brain, a tiny little sliver was left, screaming profanities at me.

_Are you INSANE? _It screamed. _Your mother is DEAD. You saw her die. You checked her friggin' PULSE with your father. She's kicked the bucket. She's pushing up the daisies._ _She's dead as a doornail…_

_SHUT UP! _The rest of my brain hollered, and my intelligence, being a wuss, complied.

The truth was, I wanted so badly for this to be my mother. All my life, I'd wanted to see her just one more time. And she was here. So real that it was overwhelming.

She pulled away from my hug and gripped my shoulders, holding me at arms' length. Tears brimmed in her hazel eyes, and she smiled.

"Look at you Lissie, you've gotten so tall," she breathed. "So beautiful." She took her hand and gently stroked my cheek, and I smiled. I could feel tears brimming in my eyes, but I didn't care.

I think that's what did it. "Beautiful". One word, yet it meant so much, and it wasn't one that I'd ever been called. But mothers are supposed to call their children that, right? One little word, that's all it took for all my rational thought to fly out the window.

It just goes to show you that flattery will get you _everywhere_.

I opened my mouth to speak, but I was distracted by a slight murmuring somewhere in the back of my skull. I could still feel it, but it was like whoever was talking was doing it through a layer of molasses.

"What is it, baby?" Momma whispered, concerned.

"It's…it's…" I knew it was something important, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. "It's nothing," I finished.

There was a slight noise behind me, and I turned. The team was standing there, on the steps. I wanted to call to them, wanted to introduce them to Momma. But they looked…afraid. They were screaming things at me, things I strained to hear but couldn't quite make out. Megan, Connor, Artemis, Aqualad, Wally, Zatanna…even Robin was there, trying desperately to get my attention. I smiled serenely up at them, hoping they would calm down, but they just screamed more urgently, their mouths moving and faces contorting but no sound coming out.

"Who are _they?_" Momma asked, spitting out the words as though they were poisonous. That itself should have clued me that something was up, but somehow, it didn't.

"They're my…my friends," I whispered. Okay, so perhaps "friends" wasn't quite accurate, but it sounded a heckuva lot better than "people who belong to the team that I was coerced into joining".

"Oh. Well…" She continued, but I was still focused on the voices of the team. _What were they saying_?

I concentrated, so hard I could feel a slight throbbing in my skull. I had to know what they were telling me.

Finally, one word broke through. It was just one word, but it was so incredibly important.

_Illusion_, it whispered.

I didn't know who had said it. It didn't matter.

I stared back up into Momma's face, the face that had once been so incredibly perfect but now looked slightly suspicious.

"Momma," I whispered, cutting her off.

"Yes, darling?"

"What…" I gulped: I didn't want to ask this, but I knew I had to. "What did you say to me, just before…you know. You died. What was it again?"

"Well, I'm not sure I know…"

"You know," I whispered, my voice trembling. "About life."

I could still hear her words from that day ringing in my head: _"Life is hard, but it's worth living."_ Words that had sustained me, even in the worst times. I _knew _that Momma, if this was her, would remember them too. I desperately wanted to hear them now. But I wasn't going to be that lucky.

"Why…I said…Life is like a box of chocolates?" She mumbled, confused.

I took a step back. Rage filled me, and I shook my head, tears streaming down my cheeks.

"Wrong answer," I whispered.

Then I thrust my arms forward and _willed _the flames towards her. They exploded out of me, twisting and flowing in a deadly inferno. I kneaded them into blades and spheres, just like Canary had taught me. I kept the attacks relatively short, so they wouldn't roast her flesh off of her bones. If I'd been doing this at any other time, it would have been difficult, even impossible, but with my rage fueling the flames, it was as easy as taking off a jacket. Easier.

Finally, I stopped the barrage. The woman was cowering on the ground, hair seared, flesh charred, skin bleeding, clothed ripped to shreds from the blades of fire. But not dead. Still very much alive. And still very much looking like my mother.

I tell you, I almost stopped then. Seeing my mother, or what looked like her, cowering on the ground from damage _I _inflicted, well, it broke my heart.

She looked up at me, her eyes full of sorrow. "Lissie, _why_?" she whispered.

I wanted to run forward, throw my arms around her, and beg apologies. But then the image of my mother flickered, I saw the person behind it, and I knew the truth.

"How _DARE_ you?" I screamed, tears cutting paths through the soot on my cheeks. "YOU ARE _NOT_ HER! HOW _DARE YOU?_" I followed each word up with a sphere or blade of fire, not caring if I hurt her. Heck, not caring if I _killed_ her. I wanted to. I hated her for leading me on, for forcing me to remember Momma.

I hated her for making me hurt.

Finally, I felt a firm hand on my shoulder. I looked up; it was Aqualad. "_Enough,_" he whispered. He didn't look angry, though. For a second I wondered why, and then I felt the tears bubbling in my eyes.

The rest of the team was gathered around a burnt, smoking figure. I slowly made my way forward, to see the criminal that had dared impersonate Momma.

She was curled on the ground, covered in blood and burns and bruises. Her clothes were shredded and she would definitely need some skin grafts. But she still had long, raven-black hair that, despite being singed, was beautiful. Her skin (what wasn't burned) was a milk-white, and her eyes were a clear blue.

She cracked a smile. "I gotta hand it to you, kid—you're gutsier than I thought you were." She coughed hoarsely. "Go easier on the flame next time, 'kay? And—" I leaned in close to hear what she had to say, but she slumped over, unconscious.

* * *

The ride back to Mount Justice was done in dead silence. It was kind of awkward, but hey…there you go.

Once we got back, Batman began to congratulate us on a "successful mission". Yeah, right.

I beat a hasty retreat to my room, skipping the shower and snack that would force me to talk to the rest of the team. Once inside, I crawled under my bedsheets, staining the pristine white a dusty grey from all the soot that covered me.

I lay there for what must have been a couple hours, ignoring all the pleas of the team to come out and tell them what was wrong. The rage and even the sorrow slowly drained out of me, leaving a hollow shell that was almost worse than feeling bad. I stared vacantly at the Coldplay poster I had taped to my pale blue wall, not really registering any thought or emotion.

Finally, I heard hushed whispers outside my door.

"_Come _on," someone murmured. "_She needs us_."

"I'm not really good at that kind of thing. Can you do it?" A deep voice this time, it sounded a lot like Connor.

"Whatever."

A pair of unseen knuckles rapped on the door, and then the person opened it without waiting for a response.

"Lissie, are you okay?" I glanced up. Megan stood at the foot of my bed, her face displaying a look of concern that I hadn't seen directed at me in a long time.

She sat on the foot of my bed. "What happened out there?"

I should have spilled my guts then. I should have given her my entire backstory, complete with tragic experiences and details she probably didn't care about. I should have told her exactly who I'd seen, why I was suddenly so depressed, and why that mission was such a failure.

But I didn't.

I shrugged. "I don't know. What did you see?"

Megan shuddered. "There was a huge monster. It was black and looked like…pure darkness. And you were _hugging_ it. It was stroking your _hair_."

Suddenly, I understood why the team had been screaming at me when I'd been hugging my mom. The woman who had impersonated her had been an illusionist, and while she'd been casting an image of my mother for my benefit, she'd been showing the rest of the team the most terrifying image she could. I should have been disgusted. But instead, I was kind of glad that they hadn't seen Momma. That was one memory that was too private to share.

Megan was waiting for my response, and I definitely did not want to tell her the truth. "Oh, I…I don't remember. I just kind of…blacked out during the whole thing."

Megan nodded, but she didn't look like she believed me.

"Hey…um…do you think I can go into town or something?"

Megan shrugged. "Sure, just use the zeta tubes. Why, do you-?"

"I just want some time to myself, is all." I picked myself out of bed and hurried out of the room, leaving a confused-looking Megan behind. I breezed past a bored Connor, who was waiting for Megan outside of my room, and hurried to the zeta tubes. I was being given a moment of freedom, and I was taking it.

* * *

I emerged in a flash of bright light in a back-alley of Gotham. It was late-afternoon already, almost sunset. I'd been in my room for a long, long time.

I hurried out into the streets of Gotham, casting glances over my shoulder, knowing that Gotham didn't have a bad reputation for nothing.

The alley I had emerged in was conveniently placed next to Gotham Harbor, right near the touristy section with boardwalks and everything. The pavement was bustling with townspeople in casual clothes. People were walking dogs, rollerblading, jogging, and picking pockets.

Music from an unseen speaker filled the air, a familiar pop song that I couldn't quite name. It was bouncy and happy, not really my style of music, but good just the same.

I leaned on the rough wooden rails over the harbor, watching the sun slowly sink beyond the horizon. Gotham wasn't exactly known for its natural beauty, but the sunset was still really pretty: it turned the sky pinks and golds, and beams of sunlight bounced of the sludge in the harbor, turning the ocean into a disco ball, if disco balls were radioactive and smelled like a fishy sewage plant.

I sighed. The sunset was really calming, actually, and almost made me want a swim. Okay, not really, because swimming in Gotham Harbor would both kill me and make me sprout a third eye. But you get the idea.

Suddenly, I felt someone tug on the bottom hem of my cargo pants. I knew it wasn't a pickpocket, because they don't tend to introduce themselves, so I spared a glance down.

Near my feet was the most angelic little girl I'd ever seen. And I'm talking heavenly here: A soft halo of golden curls framed the face of a cherub, with round cheeks and pink lips. She had huge, cornflower-blue eyes and was wearing a cute, pale-pink dress embroidered with daisies. And tears brimmed in her eyes.

I knelt down, my heart beginning to melt. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" I asked, doing my best to smile sweetly.

She wrapped her chubby arms around my shoulders and sobbed into my hair. "I lost my mother," she whispered into my ear.

I gently pried her off me and smiled. "Don't worry, I can help you find her, honey. Where did you last see her?"

Unexpectedly, she snatched my hand and began dragging me in the direction of the crowd. She walked fast, for a little girl, and I had to jog to keep up.

"Over…over here, c'mon!" She'd morphed from miserable to joyous and carefree in the space of a couple seconds, and my head was spinning from the transformation.

We weaved in and out of the crowds, covering more distance than the girl ever could have wandered. Finally, we made it to a not-so nice area of town, where there were quite a bit less people. Streetlights flickered and went out, broken glass covered the cracked pavement, litter was tossed around the area, and an unpleasant smell hung in the air.

"Honey—are you sure your mother was here?"

She nodded earnestly and gave a sweet smile. "Just in here," she said, leading me into a dark alley.

"Sweetheart, I think you must be…" I started, but suddenly a woman emerged from the shadows.

She hand chestnut-colored hair cut in a bob, dull brown eyes, a sharp nose, and tanned skin. She was wearing a crisp black business suit and didn't really look related to the little girl holding my hand, but the smile on her face suggested otherwise.

"Callie! Oh, darling, I was so worried!" She knelt down and swept the little girl into a hug, planting a kiss on her hair.

"Momma!" Callie chirped. Her mother released her from the hug, smiling.

"Why don't you tell this nice girl thank you?" Her mother suggested, and I smiled at the scene.

"It's okay, there's really no need…" I began, but the mother cut me off.

"No, I insist. Go on, Callie, show this nice young lady how we say thank you."

Callie grinned, and approached me. She walked slowly up to me, stood at my feet, and smiled angelically at me.

"Thank you," she whispered. Then, suddenly, she said, "Momma, can I?"

The mother smiled. "Go ahead, sweetie."

She looked back at me, and gave me a grin. But this grin was totally different from her angel smiles.

Her pearly white teeth were still pearly and still white, but they had morphed into rows of needle-sharp fangs. Her pupils were now little slits in her eyes, and her skin had taken on a greenish tinge. I took a step back, fear starting to bubble in the pit of my stomach.

"This is how we say thank you," she murmured, her voice suddenly raspy and hoarse. Then, she opened her mouth, grabbed my wrist, and slid her needle-like teeth into the soft skin on my arm.

I tried to scream, but no sound came out. My flame refused to manifest, as well. Black spots began to obscure my vision as panic swirled through me.

The last thing I saw was Callie's demon-smile, three rows of razor-sharp teeth taunting me. Then everything faded to black.

* * *

**Well...did ya like it? I 3 cliffies, don't you? No? Oh, well.**

**If you liked this (or if you hated it) please review! I 3 feedback even more than cliffies!**

**Oh, and I don't own Young Justice or anything else good, for that matter.**


	14. The Odds Are Against Lissie

**Wow...sorry, guys, that I took so long, but I've been crazy busy (I had four end-of-the year finals, two or three projects, etc.) and I graduated from eight grade from my nine-year elementary school. But it's summer, so hopefully I get the chance to update more often. Again, thanks for the reviews, and I hope you guys like this chapter.**

* * *

There was only one thought coursing through my foggy mind as I slowly woke up:

_This room is really white_.

It was a blinding, snowy-white that stung my eyes. One end of the room contained a gigantic mirror that reflected the white back at me, making the pain even worse. There wasn't a speck of dirt in the room, as if it were immune to getting dirty. I felt kind of bad, because I knew that my being here would put an end to the cleanliness, once and for all.

The only other features in the room were a single door and a white, steel cot chained to the walls with a single, clean blanket folded on the end. There was nothing else. No windows, no pictures, not even a bathroom. I could tell right away that that last bit would be causing some problems, real soon.

I began to examine myself, checking for injuries as was my new habit, ever since entering the Young Justice League. I was in a plain, sleeveless white nightgown that barley covered my knees. It was very thin, and did absolutely nothing to beat back the chill of the room (obviously, whoever built it had thought that heat was for wusses).

My left arm was wrapped in bandages, and there were red splotches staining the linen where my injury had bled through. I suddenly remembered the little girl that had given me that wound, her terrible demon-smile flashing through my mind. I shuddered.

The kid's fangs must have been poisoned—it would definitely explain the dull ache I felt all over and the fog in my mind that left me remembering her teeth and her demon-smile, but not much else. Who _was_ that kid, anyway? And why the _heck_ had I been hanging out with her?

I tried shaking my head to clear my mind, but to no avail. Oh, well. I had a feeling the memories weren't too important, anyways.

Suddenly, the door clicked open. In walked a pretty lady, in a navy blue business suit and spotless white lab coat, with auburn hair flowing down her back. Something about her seemed familiar. She smiled kindly at me.

"Well, come on Lissie. The boss wants to see you."

I didn't "come on". "Where am I?"

She gave a pretty, musical laugh. "Why, you're in Project Cadmus, of course."

I almost choked. Project Cadmus was where Superboy had been rescued from. This was _not _good.

"Project…Project _Cadmus?" _I asked in disbelief.

"Yes. Project Wildfire, to be specific. Now come on, I haven't got all day."

I obediently got to my feet and followed dumbly behind her. Superboy had told stories about Project Cadmus, and it did _not _seem like the kind of place you wanted to hang out in. I had to get out of here, somehow.

The woman's heels clicked on the white linoleum halls. Windows lined the hallway, and though she didn't pause to look at them, _I _sure did.

In one, there was a huge tank of water. Something swam around in it—it had the form of a human boy, about twelve years old, but that was where the resemblance between it and people ended. Its skin was grey, and instead of hands, it had rough fins. Gills were slashed into its ribcage area, not orderly like you see on fish, but random, slashing up and down and diagonally, as if they were plopped on by a modern artist who still hadn't gotten his technique down. He was completely bald, and when he turned and smiled at me, I saw that his eyes were dark and full of hunger, and his mouth was filled with three rows of serrated shark teeth.

In another room was a small creature that, again, looked vaguely human but not really. It was covered in tiny green scales and had a stumpy tail. Horn-like formations protruded randomly from its back. When itturned to stare at me, I saw that its eyes were yellow and reptile-like, and its mouth had no teeth, just gums.

A third was _definitely _human. It was curled in a ball and covered in something greenish-grey and fuzzy, like mold. When it turned to look at me, I saw terror in its eyes. It didn't take a genius to guess why: the mold was eating away at its flesh. I felt a pang of pity when I realized that the poor thing would be dead very soon. It would be an agonizing death, and there probably wouldn't be a funeral.

I shuddered, and hurried to catch up with the woman, who was walking so quickly that I had to jog just to keep up.

Suddenly, she stopped short, and I plowed into her, my nose getting smushed by her shoulder blade. _Owww!_

She didn't seem to notice, just pointed to one of the windows. "_Look_," she said breathlessly.

Rubbing my nose, I turned to do as she asked. Behind the glass was the cherub-faced little girl that my memory supplied me with a dim picture of. She was no longer grinning her demon-smile, her skin was no longer a pale green color. Instead, she had beautiful gold curls and rosy cheeks and eyes the color of cornflowers. She wasn't wearing a nightgown like I was; instead she had on a cute little blue dress with white polka dots and little, black-leather Mary Janes. She sat pleasantly on the floor, playing with two Barbie dolls in identical pink dresses.

The woman next to me sighed. "Callie is my baby. I've raised her ever since she was little. Isn't she beautiful?"

I nodded. She _was_ adorable. My mind was slowly letting me forget what she'd done…she was just so damn cute!

The lady smiled. "She's one of our most successful mutants. Part shark and part cobra, you know. It's what gives her her teeth, as well as a mild form of cobra venom. She can breathe underwater, too."

I shuddered, but the woman didn't notice. "She did such a good job last night, the boss is giving her a reward. Look, here it comes now."

Two men entered Callie's room. They were wearing those suits that people at chemical plants and nuclear reactors wear, and both carried big plastic five-gallon buckets. I could see something swarming around inside.

Callie lept up from the floor and squealed audibly, even through the thick glass. One of the men overturned his bucket, and creatures came swarming out: little white mice, the kind pet owners feed to snakes. Callie laughed adorably and ran after the mice, catching one in both hands.

_Okay, so they gave her some pets, _I thought. _Weird choice of pets, but at least the kid's having fun._ But I wasn't prepared for what came next.

The mouse in Callie's hands squealed in fear and pain, trying desperately to escape. Callie just laughed wickedly. Then she brought the mouse up to her face…

And bit its head off.

My stomach turned, and I almost hurled all over the nice, clean floor, but I couldn't stop watching the horrifying scene unfolding in front of me. It was like driving past a car accident on the highway: you know it's gonna be terrible and gory and _awful_, but you somehow can't take your eyes off of it.

Finally, the woman said, "Well, we'd better get going. You're the boss' new star, and we don't want to keep him waiting, do we?"

I followed obediently, but I was starting to get the idea that being the "big star" around here wasn't necessarily a good thing.

The woman led me through a series of halls and corridors, each more confusing than the last. Finally, we stopped in front of a big, impressive, hand-carved wooden door that was designed to give one impression and one impression only: "the person behind this door is better than you."

The woman put a sharp-nailed hand at the small of my back and pushed me forcefully toward the door, turning the (probably) solid-gold handle at the same time. "Well, don't be shy—go on in. And make a good impression, while you're at it, okay?"

And then, I was in, and there was no turning back.

The office was your standard-grade luxury, with plush carpets, a massive wooden desk, huge bookshelves lining the walls, and modern-art paintings that looked like they'd been done with a weed-hacker and a paintball gun. It was all done in gold and cream, and very well lit, so the gold shone in the light. Everything that could be decorated was, leaving an assortment of velvet, tassles, plush pillows, and carvings that made my head spin.

At the desk sat a man in a well-tailored suit with a shiny bald head. My heart plummeted into my stomach when I realized who this was and just how bad it made my situation.

This was Lex Luthor.

He gave a cold, cruel grin and motioned to a plush chair facing him. "Sit, Lissie."

I didn't sit—I wasn't giving this man anything. He gave a tiny, almost invisible motion with his hand, and suddenly the door swung open to reveal a guard in a black uniform, helmet and body armor. He was more of a wall than a man, and he pointed a machine gun right at my chest. "Sit," Luthor repeated.

I sat.

"Very good," Lex said. "Now, why do you think you are here?"

I pretended to puzzle it over. "You're lonely and you need someone to play games with, right? Well, you're in luck, because I'm fan-_freakin'_-tastic at Twister."

Lez gave a low growl that sounded more animal than person. "You're _here_," he spat, "because you are an _experiment. _Just like the rest of them."

I sat back in the chair, stunned but desperately trying not to display my shock. My stomach reeled inside me. "I'm sorry, _what_?"

Lex cackled, clearly glad that he had shocked me. "You didn't think you inherited your powers from your _pathetic_ parents, did you, darling?"

"Why, Lexie, I didn't know you cared!" I said, trying desperately to cover my shock. "First you're plotting to take over countries, then you're suspiciously interested in little girls. You're a busy, busy man."

He gritted his teeth. "We've been watching you ever since you were little. Those Lexcorp clothes you got, just before you left your brother's house? Please tell me you didn't think they were all just freebies. They had tiny trackers woven into them, Lissie. Thanks to those clothes, we knew where you were at all times. Your little 'fire stunt' may have been a big deal, but we sprayed the room with chemicals that would make it harder for you to control your powers." He chuckled. "And your father was _most_ cooperative."

"Daddy?" I whispered.

Lex smiled cruelly. "Yes. In fact, he's here right now. Would you like to say hello?"

I shook my head, but Lex didn't listen. "Come in, Mister Reynolds," he called.

A side door that I hadn't noticed slowly swung open, and out stepped…Daddy. He was older, sure, with streaks of grey in his dark hair and wrinkles criss-crossing his face. He'd gained a couple pounds, too. But his vibrant green eyes were still the same ones I remembered. He was dressed in an ash-grey suit and a pristine white labcoat with an ID tag pinned to it, exactly like the one the woman had been wearing.

"Daddy? Daddy, what are you doing here? Lex Luthor is dangerous—he'll hurt you! Get out, Daddy!" I tried desperately to make him understand, but he just shook his head sadly.

Lex cackled. "Why, Henry here headed up Project Wildfire! Whyever would I want to get rid of him?"

Wildfire…Project Wildfire. The project the woman had mentioned. I was in…

"Yes," Lex said as if reading my thoughts. "_You_, Lissie, are Project Wildfire."

I shook my head slowly. _No, _I thought. _NO. Daddy wouldn't do that to me._

"Your father," Lex continued, "was the first scientist to discover how to give humans elemental powers. Unfortunately, it requires a very specific and rare DNA code—only one in two billion humans are born with it."

_No. Daddy couldn't do any of that. He…he was just a biologist…_Suddenly, I remembered all those late nights Daddy had spent in the lab, not coming home for days or weeks. I remembered all the vaccinations I'd had to supposedly prevent against new strains of viruses or the like. Momma had assumed that Daddy was just being sweet and overprotective. But…what if the opposite was true?

I turned on Daddy. "_You_," I snarled. "_You _did this to me. You made my life a living _HELL!"_

Daddy shook his head sadly. "I didn't want to, Lissie." Tiny tears leaked out of his eyes, making me hate him all the more. "Lex…Lex threatened me…"

Lex gave another laugh. "Well, I suppose _that's _true. Once I learned that you, against all odds had the gene we required, I stationed some of my doctors at the clinic you went to. Whenever you or your mother got flu shots, vaccinations, _anything_, I had them add a supplement of tiny metal capsules to the medicine. The capsules were harmless on their own, but once given a signal from me, they would release a deadly neurotoxin. Naturally, once your father heard of this, he complied to my demands right away."

He frowned. "It was going so well, too. Then your _mother_ got nosy and began to check up on your father. She started to realize what was happening." He sighed dramatically. "So we had to…dispose of her."

I shook my head. "She died of cancer, retard."

"No," Lex said softly. "She died of what the doctors _thought _was cancer." Then he smiled brightly. "But enough about your family problems. We're here to talk about _you._"

"Aren't we already?" I mumbled, still stunned. Everything that had ever gone wrong in my life could be connected directly with Lex Luthor, and I was starting to hate the man.

"As you know, you have amazing potential for destruction, Lissie. It may be raw and untamed now, but with a little training, you could hone it to near-perfection."

I shook my head. "What are you getting at?"

"There are some people in this world who I am…less then fond of. That's where you come in. I'd pay you to go around the globe and…cause little _accidents_. It wouldn't take much—just a spark here and there. But you could solve a great many of my problems. And, of course, you'd have the best of everything. I might even adopt you as my own, someday."

"So…you want me to be a hired assassin?"

He wrinkled his brow. "Oh, _assassin_ is such a nasty word. I want you to be my…little helper, as it were." He reached forward and stroked my cheek, almost fondly, as I tried not to shudder. "So, what do you say?"

I smiled sweetly and leaned forward in my seat. "_This_, Lexie dear, is what I have to say to _that_."

Then I spat in his face.

He gave a little shudder and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his face off. When he finished, I could see that his face was a mask of pure rage and hatred, and I knew for sure that this man was insane.

As suddenly as the rage had appeared on Lex's face, it evaporated, leaving a faint smile. "No matter. We have other uses for you." He motioned toward the door.

Even though I knew what was going to happen, I didn't have time to react. The same buff guard stepped through, aimed a gun at me, and pulled the trigger. There was very little sound from the gun, though, and I didn't feel a bullet. Just a little prick on my right shoulder.

I glanced down. Embedded in my shoulder was a tiny dart with a tuft of red at the end. I tried to bring my left arm up to pull the dart out, but found that it refused to move.

Lex grinned evilly. "Isn't it wonderful? That dart has a very rare neurotoxin on the end—it cost me a fortune, but it was worth it. It allows you all your senses: to see, hear, feel, even to speak, but the rest of your muscles are rendered useless."

"Why?" I asked, truly mystified. "You want a talking garden statue?"

He laughed. "No. Because our doctors have some work to do, and I want to hear your screams."

* * *

**Well, did you like it? Don't forget to review-I LOVE reviews and I want to know if you guys like the story or not. **


	15. Better Call Batman

**OMG guys it's been soo long!**

**I have a reason why I haven't posted in FOREVER, but it's long and rife with technical troubles, writer's block, and multiple other woes, so I won't burden you with the tale. (Ha! That sounded almost fancy-like, didn't it?)**

**And, as you may have noticed, I changed my title! It's now called "Pheonix Rising", derived from all your guys' amazing suggestions. I like it, though I might change it (again), but lemme know what you think.**

**Anywho, I've now got some great plot ideas, including some romance (gasp!).**

**Sorry for taking so long, but hopefully I'll be able to at least a little make up for it, hmm?**

**Thanks guys!**

* * *

"Robin…" Miss Martian cautiously entered the living room of Mount Justice, where a massive flat-screen television hung on the wall. It displayed the images of two cars (one red, one yellow) screaming across it, trying to knock each other off of the track. On a plush green couch facing the television, two young superheroes, Robin and Kid Flash, were battling it out in this test of skill and endurance. Occasionally, a yell or cry of anger rose from the couch, but otherwise, both teens remained silent, concentrating. Miss Martian didn't really want to interrupt them, but…this was important.

"_Robin!_" she said a little louder. The red car veered off of the road it was driving on and plunged over a steep cliff, exploding in a ball of flame.

"Ha! I _win_!" Kid Flash cheered.

Robin muttered something unintelligible under his breath and turned to face Miss Martian. "Megan, what was that for? You just made me lose."

"I'm really sorry, but…have you seen Lissie? She wasn't at training this morning—she _never _misses training, and now I can't find her _anywhere_."

Robin sighed. "I'm sure she's fine. She can take care of herself," he said, turning back to his game.

"Yeah, babe, nothing to worry about," Kid Flash put in, and Robin gave him a glare.

"But…she seemed really sad last night when she went out, and…"

Robin turned. "She left Mount Justice?"

"Yeah. It didn't seem weird at the time, but now…"

"Did she say where she was going?" Robin interrupted.

"No, she didn't mention anything."

"Let's check the zeta-tube history, then," Robin conceded, not so much to find out where Lissie was as to get Miss Martian off of his back.

…

I was strapped to a cold metal table with leather straps that dug into my wrists. My head was strapped in place so that I could only stare upwards, into the harsh glare of white lights. I shivered: the room was freezing. I could feel my body temperature rapidly plummeting, and I knew that I was far too cold to burn my way out of here. Even if Lex had discovered the wonders of indoor heating, though, it wouldn't have mattered. The drug he'd given me hadn't worn off, and he'd strapped a huge inhibitor collar around my neck, probably stolen from Bel Rev. There was no way I'd be escaping anytime soon.

There was a glint of steel, and then pain flared through me as a scientist dug a thin, wickedly sharp blade into the soft flesh of my stomach, probably taking some sort of sample. I tried to clamp my mouth shut, but it didn't matter; a scream found its way out. I could imagine Lex Luthor watching this whole thing and laughing his head off at that, and resolved not to scream anymore. It was a promise to myself that I would break many times over, that day.

.-.-.-.-.-.

"Gotham," Robin said. "She went to Gotham."

Miss Martian wrinkled her brow. "Why Gotham? She _hates _Gotham."

Robin shrugged. "I dunno, but it looks like she never came back."

Wally groaned. "So now we have to find her, right?"

"We should just go take a look. Something could have happened to her."

"And what if something _has _happened to her? What then?" Robin gave Miss Martian a look. "Miss M, we can't just go running around the country looking for her."

"If something _has _happened, we can call Batman. He'll know what to do."

Wally smiled. "Okay, we should go and look for her. But only for a little bit, okay? It's going to be dinner soon."

"Dude, do you only ever think of your stomach?" Robin laughed, punching in the coordinates for Gotham.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

My stomach was bloody and torn up. Little burns lined my arms from where the scientists had brushed acid on them. I was exhausted, cold, hungry, and in way more pain than I had ever thought possible.

Oh, and I was suspended in a test tube. Things just kept getting better and better.

"Lissie?" a voice came from by the doorway, slightly muffled by the glass. "Oh my God, Lissie, what have they _done_ to you?"

Moving my head felt like lifting a freight train, but I managed to do it anyways, just enough to see…

Yep. You guessed it. My father.

That lying, cheating, worthless sonofabitch. That was all he was. And I told him as much.

His face crumpled in guilt and pain. "Lissie, I'm sorry…"

"_SORRY!?" _I screamed. Unfortunately, the effort of making a sound come from my mouth caused my abdomen to sear in pain, and it was all I could do not to whimper. I made a mental note to be quieter. "_Sorry!?_ _ You _did this to me. _You _were too much of a coward to say "no." And it's _your _fault that Momma's dead." A single tear trickled down my cheek. If my hands hadn't been handcuffed to the sides, I'd have reached up and brushed it away.

I had a sudden, immensely pleasing vision of that man being attacked by a rabid honey badger. While naked and barefoot in a desert of Legos. Next to a Justin Beiber concert.

Was I angry? Yeah, you could say that.

He sighed. "Lissie, I had to do it. You wouldn't understand…"

"You're right," I said softly, my voice filled with a soft sense of loathing. "I don't understand."

"Lissie…"

"Just go away!" I screamed. "_Please_! Just leave me alone."

The screaming caused my abdomen to spasm in pain again, but I didn't care. It got my father to leave, and it was worth it.

I hung my head, sobbing quietly to myself. "Just leave me alone," I whispered again.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"Guys, I found something!" Wally called excitedly.

They'd been scouring the back alleys and streets of Gotham for over two hours, and Kid Flash, Robin, and Miss Martian were starting to get…well, exhausted. So it was with considerable joy that Wally called out to the rest of his team.

He triumphantly held up a single scrap of slightly iridescent black fabric. On the fabric was embroidered flame designs in gold, orange, and red.

A rust-red stain covered most of the fabric. Blood.

Miss Martian gasped. "That's Lissie's! I _knew _it; something's happened to her!"

Robin sprinted up next to them. "Look what I've found."

He held out a plastic ID badge, the kind given out at workplaces everywhere. This badge was chipped and dirty, with the pin at the back broken off. Still, the writing on the badge was clear.

There wasn't a _whole _lot of text, just a photograph of a severe-looking woman with brown hair and glasses. Next to the picture were two lines of text:

_Andrea Rothman, Ph.D._

_Cadmus Industries, Incorporated_

He glanced up at his two teammates, worry written across his face. "We'd better call Batman."

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**Did you guys like it? Please tell me! I love reviews!**

**Thanks guys!**

**P.S. As some of you may have noticed, I've started a new Young Justice story (OC, of course...for some crazy insane reason, I love writing non-Sue OCs). My main character's a supervillain and I actually am pretty proud of what I've got going so far, so if any of you want to maybe read it and tell me what you think, well, you'd be my new best friend.**


	16. Screw You, Lex Luthor

**Ugh. It took me sooo long to get this right.**

**It's still not my best, but I figured that I shouldn't put off posting this any longer.**

**So here it is. Enjoy.**

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It'd been three days.

Three. Damn. Days.

Three days that I'd been stuck in Lexie's little lab, being cut open and forced to run fifty miles and injected with nameless substances. Three days that I'd been kicked, starved, and abused.

I was honestly about ready to give up.

You'd think that the Justice League would be looking for me. I mean, yeah, I was hardly the MVP of the team or anything, but you'd think they'd notice I was gone. Kid Flash, Miss Martian, Zatanna…one of them was _bound _to say something.

But nope.

And I was left standing over a vat of water. Water so cold that I can see the ice floating in it.

Lex Luthor was standing behind me. He checked my handcuffs to make sure that they're tight. I couldn't see him, but somehow I could just _tell _that he was grinning.

"We're going to test how water affects your powers. And we've made it extra cold, just for fun."

I rolled my eyes. I knew this wasn't about "testing my powers" or crap like that. If Lex had _wanted _to test my powers, he would've taken off the inhibitor collar and maybe turned the thermostat up a couple degrees.

No, Lex was doing this because I'd spat at him.

I was sort of starting to regret that.

He nudged me in the back with something, probably a pistol. "Jump in, sweetheart."

I knew that if that water doesn't kill me, it would get damn close. And it would hurt. God, would it hurt.

But you know what? I didn't care anymore. I'd cried, screamed, and submitted to every little thing that man had thrown at me. The Justice League was not coming. There was a pistol in my back, and I was not getting out of death.

All I could do was to make it interesting.

So I whirled around on one leg and raised my handcuffed arms over my head. My face was one big, mottled bruise, but I still managed to give Lex a wink and a cocky little smile.

I even went so far as to lean forward and plant a kiss square on Lex's cheek. (Which tasted terrible, BTW. Does that man _ever _shower?)

Then I leaned backwards and swan-dived into the water.

Screw you, Lex Luthor.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"So…this is it?" The Cadmus lab didn't look like the one that Superboy had been busted out of. Actually, it looked sort of like a fancy hotel, complete with palm trees and a swimming pool.

"Cadmus Labs, Florida branch. Why the hell'd they bring her all the way to Florida?" Artemis said.

Robin shrugged. "Does it matter?"

Aqualad spoke up. "Okay, Robin, Superboy, Kid Flash, you go through the roof. Zatanna and Artemis, take the side entrance. Miss Martian and I will go around back. Contact the rest of the team if anything—and I mean _anything_—happens. Got it?"

The team nodded in unison.

They were getting Lissie out.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The water was so damn cold.

It was colder than ice. It was colder than the Antarctic. It was colder than that time I'd been pushed in the sea lion tank on a class trip to the aquarium.

It would've been unpleasant, maybe even fatal, for a normal person. For me? It felt like a million tiny icicles were stabbing me all at once, leaving me bloody and raw and in pain.

Dammit, I was in so much pain.

I screamed underwater, releasing precious oxygen and making my survival time that much shorter. Frantically, I kicked towards the surface. Not that Lex would pull me out or anything, but at least I'd have ready access to oxygen again.

My legs wouldn't move. They were stuck, frozen in place. I was stuck. I was sinking, drowning.

I was dying.

I closed my eyes. I really hadn't expected it to end like this. I'd always thought I'd get hit by a nice semi-truck or something. No, my death was also my worst nightmare: drowning.

I could feel the oxygen being used up, feel my chest slowly tighten. When I opened my eyes, I could see blackness slowly creeping over the edges of my field of vision.

And just so I can clear something up: your life totally _does _flash before your eyes when you're dying. It did for me, anyways. Some of that was good, some…not so much. I had to watch Wally eat several times, and the sight of that alone almost killed me.

And then, just as I knew it was officially the end, there was a terrible suctioning noise and water began to rush past me at a terrifying pace. Fortunately for yours truly, the chain on my handcuffs caught on one of the rusty nails attached to the side of the pool and I narrowly avoided being sucked down the drain like a dead goldfish.

The water drained out of the pool pretty quickly, leaving me gasping on the wet concrete like a dying fish. My vision was beginning to blur and I could tell it wouldn't be long before I blacked out.

"Someone get her," Lex said. The disgust in his voice was evident.

I could vaguely feel someone roughly picking me up and tossing me over their shoulder like a soggy sack of potatoes. I was about to yell something rude at them but my mouth wouldn't work. I passed out instead.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_Thwing_. Robin's birdarang caught one of the guards on the side of the head and he slumped to the ground, unconscious. A couple seconds later, Superboy and Kid Flash hauled in the unconscious forms of his comrades, piling them up together.

"That _all_?" Kid Flash asked, poking one with his toe. "Only three?"

"Looks like it," Robin said, already working on the electronically-locked door. "Though that could change pretty quick." He grinned. "Let's hope it changes. Three guards is just _boring_, y'know?"

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Back in a test tube.

I have to admit, I hate Lex Luthor as much as the next human lab rat, but when he drained that pool—hell, I could've kissed the man.

I could barely tell where I was in my near-death delirium, so the fact that I was in a test tube didn't bother me all that much. I could vaguely tell that it was somewhat warmer than the ice water, but still much, much too cold. Especially for my tastes.

I managed to lift my head. Now that I wasn't dead, there were a lot of things I suddenly wanted to do. Escape being on top of the list.

I'd been guarded every second of every day since I first got dragged into this hellhole, but I guess _someone_ got lazy, because this time, I was alone. Or maybe Lexie dearest just assumed that I was too close to death to even move. This was true, but it wasn't going to stop me from getting out.

The idiot scientist who put me in here had just tossed me in, not even bothering to strap me down all that tightly before taking off for his cigarette break (the seventh so far that day; I'd counted). And really, they had had to _carry _me in here—no way were they expecting me to run for it.

Unfortunately, they were kind of right. I didn't have enough energy to escape from my bonds—I was already using what little I had to recover from the double-shock of water and freezing cold temperatures.

However, there was one thing I _had_ noticed when they shoved me in here: Luthor's massive test tube was not nailed down. Get it rocking and it'd fall over no problem. And 'cause this thing was made of glass, it'd shatter into a million pieces. Sure, I'd be left embedded with more glass shards than would be produced if a window factory blew up, and I'd still be bound down, but at least it would be a step in the right direction.

So I let myself slump forward in my bonds. I grinned as I felt the tube shift just a little with my weight. It took all my strength, but I managed to haul myself back into a standing position. The tube rocked back just a bit. I slumped again, stood up again—slowly, the tube began to rock gently back and forth, until—

Oh, _crap_. I could feel the tube falling forward and had just enough time to think that this was probably a _really bad idea_ before the tube—and me with it—collided with the cement floor.

_Crash! _There was a sound like what happens when you let a rhinoceros into a china shop. I felt the impact immediately, and with nothing to shield myself from the floor, I frantically turned my head to the side to avoid smashing my nose along with the glass.

Fortunately, the round bases of the test tube and the narrow board I was pinned to left just a little space in between me and the floor so my face didn't end up looking like I survived a bad industrial accident. Unfortunately, that space meant I was literally _hanging_ from my bonds just two inches above the floor, unable to free myself. The way my arms were spread was making it hard to breathe.

_Oh, crap_.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_Crash!_ There was a huge sound like the noise of a hundred glass dishes breaking all at once. Wally winced, remembering the time he'd made that sound. Only he'd done it with his mom's china cabinet.

"What was that?" Superboy asked, wincing.

"I don't know, but it came from that direction," Robin said, pointing off down the dimly lit hall. "KF, can you…?"

"Already on it," Kid Flash said. A second later, he was a blur disappearing into the distance.

"Do you think that was Lissie?" Superboy asked uncertainly.

Robin shook his head. "I don't know, but I wouldn't put it past her."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

I'd been hanging there a good thirty seconds when the door to the lab swung open. From my vantage point, all I could see was a pair of red shoes. But I could hear plenty.

"Lissie? What did you—is that you?"

I coughed awkwardly, trying to reply. "Hey…KF," I managed to mutter. "Long…time…no…see." _God_, it hurt to talk.

"Lissie? Oh, God…We're gonna get you out of there, okay?" He turned toward the hall. "Supey! Robin! In here!"

In a couple seconds, the other two heroes sprinted into the room. I closed my eyes. The sound of their voices hurt my head.

I could feel Superboy lifting the remains of the test tube up. It sent shocks of pain running down my back, stomach, and wrists—I gave a cry. Robin—or maybe it was Kid Flash?—responded to that, but I was far too out of it to hear what they said. Funny, I imagine lifting the test tube hurt me a whole lot more than it did Connor.

By that time, I think some of the other members of the team had joined the party—I could see little blurred shapes on the backs of my eyelids that suggested there were people there.

Someone undid my bonds—first the inhibitor collar (Holy Mary and all the saints, that felt good) and then my wrists, head, and legs. By that point, I couldn't really stand, so I just slumped over, falling into someone's arms and probably bleeding all over their nice little super-outfit.

I let my eyes flicker open, just once. Robin's face flickered into view.

"Robin?" I whispered. He didn't respond, so I said it a couple decibels louder. "Robin? Where's Lex Luthor?"

He shook his head as if angry that I was talking. "I don't know. Why?"

I gave a tiny smile, the widest that my energy level would allow for. "Because I'm gonna fry that sonofabitch if it's the last thing I do."

Then I passed out.

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**Sooo. How was it? Did you love it? Did you hate it?**

**Tells me!**

**Also, I'm REALLY excited for the next chapter (it'll probably pretty short, too, but it'll have some good stuff in it, i promise.) And then...oh god, guys, chapters like 18-20 or so...**

**I'm spazzing out I'm so excited.**

**AHHHHH!**

**Okay, okay. I'm calm. I'm calm. No, really, I am.**

**AHHHH!**

**Okay, I'm good now.**

**Bye guys! Thanks!**


	17. A Hero Is Born

**Oh, guys...I know it's been a while. I honestly do. I still plan on keeping this story going and all, but it's becoming ever more difficult to crank out chapters. I hope this makes up for it.**

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For the first time in what seemed like weeks, my eyes flickered open of their own accord. Y'know, without the aid of fingernail-pulling or buckets of ice water being dumped over my head or rude slaps to the face.

God, that felt good.

Sunlight flickered in through the gauzy curtains shadowing the window, just enough to illuminate the space I was in. I was tangled up in a mass of cool sheets, resting on a pillow so soft it may as well have been made of clouds. Strangely, there was no pain, and for a second, I was sure I had died.

And then I lifted my head and almost screamed in agony, which was almost a good thing. It meant that I was alive, at any rate.

A shadow shifted in the corner of the room. "Leaving Mount Justice _unaccompanied?_ That was stupid, Lissie," Black Canary's voice came from the corner, loud enough to make my head throb.

"Lovely to see you, too," I muttered sarcastically. "I'm fine. Thanks for asking."

She sighed and helped me sit up—every movement caused another jolt of pain, but Black Canary wouldn't let me just lie down and rest. No, she gently but forcefully pushed me into a sitting position, causing my abs to scream out for mercy.

Once I was sitting, though, it was a lot easier to take in a view of the room. A table by the foot of the bed was overflowing with flowers, cards, stuffed animals, and one half-eaten plate of chocolate chip cookies from Wally, which, I must admit, forced a flicker of a grin to my face.

Black Canary sat down beside me, saying nothing, just rubbing my back in comforting little circles. "What happened in there, Lissie?" she finally asked, her voice so soft as to be almost inaudible.

I sighed, resting my head on my knees and letting my hair fall over my face. You'd think I'd _want _to give her a sob story about Lex and my father and all the other bastards in that lab who thought having a scientific degree justified turning living human beings into life-size Mr. Potato Head dolls. But suddenly, I didn't want to tell her anything.

"Oh…you know," I murmured. "Lexie and his little minions had a bit of fun with a captive mutant. They took 'mad scientist' to a whole new level. No biggie," I said, attempting to shrug it off.

I could hear Canary groan through her teeth. "Lissie, we don't know exactly what happened in there, but we can tell from your wounds that it was bad. There's no way anyone could just shrug something like that off, and frankly, we're not going to let you."

"Look, Canary," I sighed. "I don't want to talk about it, okay? Can't you just let it drop?"

She turned away. "For now, yes. But you can't just keep on boxing up your feelings, Lissie. You're keeping things from us—and not just what happened in that lab. You can't keep your secrets forever, not without hurting yourself."

I bit my lip. "You've got no idea how long I can keep a secret," I mumbled, though I know she heard me.

"Lissie…" she started.

"No," I said, forcing a grin. "Forget it. Where's everyone else? I want to see them." I swung my legs over the side of the bed. It took all my willpower to keep my knees from buckling when my feet hit the floor.

Canary looked as though she were about to say something else, but just managed to stop herself. "Okay," she relented. "You can see them."

…

Canary led me to the living room. All seven teens were clustered around the television, watching some sort of poorly made horror movie turned on low volume. Normally, such an event would bring on a lot of laughter, sarcastic comments, and popcorn thrown at the television, but the room was full of a silence so tense that it felt as though you could wring out the air.

My bare feet padded through the door, but no one turned, not even Connor with his super hearing. I coughed awkwardly.

"Hi, guys," I mumbled.

The reaction was instantaneous. Wally was the fastest (of course), throwing his arms around me in a bone-crushing hug that left me gasping for air. "Woah—KF—little—tight…" I gasped out. He immediately released me, instead holding me at arm's length with a little grin on his face.

"Sorry," he murmured. "It's just…God, I was so worried about you."

I laughed, hugging him back. "I missed you, too."

And then I was ambushed by the whole team—even Connor—in a crazy little hugfest that both was agonizingly painful and felt amazing at the same time. I mean, _actual human contact_, contact that wasn't an insane scientist with a penchant for real-life Operation, felt like heaven.

The next couple minutes passed in a flurry of raised voices, hugs, and laughter. It was a couple of seconds before I managed to break shake of their arms and catch my breath.

"I'm fine, guys," I mumbled. "Really, I am. Just tired, is all."

Aqualad wrinkled his brow. "Are you sure you're okay?"

I fake a half smile. "Yeah. I'm okay. I'm always okay, right?" I suddenly feel very, very awkward indeed, a hot blush creeping its way over my cheeks. "So!" I burst out, sliding over the back of the sofa. "What're we watching? Oooh, _Godzilla,_ now there's a classic for you…"

Slowly, awkwardly, the team sits down around me, taking spots on the couch or chairs or window ledges or floor. The tension's still there, and if anything, my unwillingness to break down and sob into their arms has only made it worse.

It's great to be back.

…

I'm not allowed to go on missions for the next week or so, so I'm left cramped up in Mount Justice with absolutely nothing to do and nowhere to go. It's completely hellish, to say the least.

I spend most of my time wandering around the empty halls, my footsteps echoing in the silence. It's not until the third day of my confinement that I find Batman in the training room, tapping out a sequence of instructions on the monitors, programming the computers for the team's next exercise.

I cough awkwardly. "Um…hi."

"Lissie," he says without turning. "Good to see you up and about."

"Yeah," I mumble awkwardly. "Um…you too."

We stand in silence for the next few minutes, silence that (to me) seems extremely awkward. Batman keeps tapping away at the monitor, undaunted by my presence.

I sigh. "Look…there's been something I want to ask."

"Yes?"

"It's kind of stupid," I admit.

He shrugs. "Ask. I'll be the judge of that."

"Okay. Well, it's just…all the rest of the team gets these awesome superhero names, and I was just thinking…if I'm a part of the team, shouldn't I get one, too?"

He chuckles. "According to you, you're not part of the team."

I blush, looking down at my sock-clad toes. "I was just thinking…maybe I've changed my mind about that."

I look up. Under his mask, Batman's normally set jaw is turned up in just a hint of a grin, the first I've ever seen on him. "Okay. What name do you suggest?"

My mouth drops open in shock. I wasn't expecting him to grant my request so readily.

"Um...um…" I stutter at first, unprepared. But then I calm myself, take a deep breath. For a second I stand in silence. I think of my powers, of all they've put me through, of all they've given me. I think of myself, of who _I _am. And suddenly, I know.

I allow myself a hint of a grin back. "Well…I was thinking, maybe…" I look up at Batman. He gives me a "go on" motion.

I take a deep breath, trying to summon into my voice a confidence I don't possess. "Wildfire."

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**Well, I hope that was somewhat okay. What did you think? Do you like her new name?**

**I was inspired to call her this by one of your title suggestions. Unfortunately, I can't recall whose suggestion it was and couldn't find the review, though I tried to sift through them for it. If you recognize it as your suggestion, please let me know in a comment or PM so I can give you the credit you deserve next chapter.**

**Thanks, guys!**


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